


Putting Together the Pieces

by hopelessly_me



Category: Marvel
Genre: A wee bit angsty in parts, Bucky asks Clint to dance, Bucky does the cooking, Bucky needs a hug, Captured, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint can't cook, Clint makes cupcakes, Confused Bucky, Confused Clint, Deaf Clint, Divergent AU, First Kiss, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt Clint, Implied Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memory Loss, Nightmares, Rescue Mission, Small Talk, bed sharing, bonus scene with pizza dog, bucky and clint reunite, clint does Bucky's hair, forced to split up, happy Clint, happy endings, lost Clint, mind control sucks, post S.H.I.E.L.D., relieved Clint, things finally explained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22302784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me
Summary: Clint cannot remember much of anything after S.H.I.E.L.D. wiped his memory. All he knows is that he had done something bad, potentially killed someone he was close to, and has to stay on the move to avoid being dragged back for another memory wipe. When he runs into a man who seems to mirror his own problems, they try to figure out how to move forward together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 252
Kudos: 267





	1. Chapter 1

The vent cover moved slowly to the side nearly noiselessly, and Clint lowered himself out of the ventilation system. It was two-forty in the morning, shift change, and the safest time to get his hands on what he needed before he left. How he knew it was the safest time, he couldn’t tell you. He would be picked up on the cameras but he had programmed them already to be on a repeat loop for ten minutes, buying him the time needed. Unless someone went into the monitor room, saw the knocked out agents, and then he would be a little more screwed.

Clint ducked into a room with computers and sat down, plugging in a flash drive. He needed access. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he started to type.  _ Please let the code be the same, let it be predictable _ . He grinned when he was granted in and started the process of extracting data via a key search.  _ Barton, Clinton Francis. _ He waited as he watched the files being downloaded.

Clint had no idea what he was doing, he just knew he had to do it. He needed these files, to piece together whatever information this organization, S.H.I.E.L.D., had on him. It was his only hope of figuring out who the hell he was, what he had done, who he had become and why the hell agents were watching him, tracking him. He also needed to know why seemingly random people were trying to kill him.

It was a weird feeling, feeling like you should know something but had no idea what it was, or why would should know it. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D., but no idea why. He knew how to shoot a firearm, a bow, but he couldn’t remember learning it. He knew a lot of times when someone came near him, engaged him, he could run through the motions of hand-to-hand combat, make some weird calculations on how something should work, and then run like hell.

All he knew were false memories, implanted but fading around the edges. He was told he was in the military, a Marine, a marksman, and that there had been a horrible accident that took out his team; he was the sole survivor, learning to live again. He was told he needed therapy, to see a doctor, to take pills that always made him sick. He hated feeling numb, hated going through the motions every single day. Clint felt like he was losing his mind doing such mundane things like working in a restaurant.

And that’s when he found out what was happening. His first  _ real _ memory hit him while leaving a store, the hot summer air hitting his face. It washed over him and he needed to sit, hold his head and breath. He was in Hungary and he was dying. He could see the pissed off red head next to him, heard her talking furiously about a plan he knew wasn’t going to work. So he made the plan and told her that if it worked, if they actually came out alive, she was going to have to marry him. He stood up and shot an arrow,  _ an arrow _ , and a rush of heat hit him as a car exploded. He got the strangest smirk on his face and said “boom.”

Clint stopped taking the medication and noticed he was feeling better, less foggy, more clear. But with that came a flood of memories. He missed a therapy appointment, which triggered people nearly breaking down his door to get inside his tiny apartment. Clint rose his hands and looked in horror as guns were pointed at him. No one would say what he had done, he didn’t know what he had done wrong. As soon as an older man walked in, eye patch on, Clint knew he needed to run. Something  _ told  _ him that he needed to go because he was going to forget again.

When Clint ran from the states, he knew exactly what to do. He was going to need to disappear and he had something in place already to aid in that. He found a stash hidden away in Oklahoma of all places, fake IDs, cash, clothing. Clint didn’t know if he was an overly prepared type of guy, or if he was overly paranoid. Either way, he was grateful. He collected the multiple fake IDs, checked them over several times, and decided he needed to leave the states. He had started in South America, figuring it was the easiest place to disappear in. And he wasn’t wrong. He had stayed south of the border for six months, trying to patch up as many memories as he could.

Clint then moved to Europe; something about being overseas was comforting. He knew he couldn’t exactly outrun his problem, or the people after him, but he could blend in. He knew more languages than he should for a man who could barely speak English when he hadn’t had his coffee for the day. It was in Europe he learned more about S.H.I.E.L.D., an organization he strongly suspected he had been a part of. But why they wanted him to forget everything he still couldn’t work out.

Clint heard an alarm and he was pulled from his thoughts. He looked at the computer and stopped extracting anymore files before pulling the flashdrive out. Whatever he had, it was going to have to do. He left it logged in and walked back to where he had come from. By the time the vent was back in place, Clint was perfectly still while people marched down the hall. He was a bit cramped, he was too big for this, but he knew he had done it before.

Clint was sure he could get out of the base, but he didn’t need the fight. They would have guns and Clint- Clint could barely look at a gun without his anxiety spiking. He  _ hated _ guns, knew what he could do with them, knew a part of him was prepared to take someone down if he had to, and that part of him made him sick. No- he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t kill anyone else, he wouldn’t. He was in control of that aspect, even if it felt a little shaky.

No. Clint would wait it out. He would move when he felt it was safe. No one was going to check the vents for a man who shouldn’t fit so comfortably up there. 

It took several hours to get away from the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, careful planning as he moved about in an attempt to remain undetected. When he got to the nearest town, he noticed a higher level of agent activity. He tugged the hood up a little and ducked his head, finding a spot to stay still. He pulled out his phone and looked at it, trying to look busy. He would occasionally glance up through his lashes, just to get a good feel for the situation.  _ Maybe invading a S.H.I.E.L.D. base wasn’t the smartest idea, Barton _ he told himself.

Clint made his way to a cafe when the presence of agents calmed down and looked around once he got inside. No one stuck out like a sore thumb, which was a relief. He ordered himself the largest coffee they had, a sandwich, and a yogurt. He made it to a table that didn’t offer near enough coverage but it gave him good sight lines. Things like that seemed to be important, even though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that. He took a moment before he drank the coffee and his eyes fluttered closed.  _ Heaven _ .

He needed a plan now. He couldn’t stay here long, that he knew. He was going to move east, move closer to Hungary, the only place he had a clear memory of outside of the United States. Maybe being closer to Hungary would make more memories stand out to him. Clint considered leaving before he even had a chance to check out the flash drive. If he opened a file and a flood of memories hit him, he wasn’t sure how he would react. The last time he remembered something he had shut down for days. He couldn’t risk that again, not in Germany. Maybe he would move south, hit Austria and take that to Hungary. From there he could hit Serbia and Romania before entering Ukraine. He wasn’t sure he dared move past Ukraine and he knew for a fact he didn’t want to end up in Russia. Old Clint, the Clint he couldn’t remember much of, he hated Russia and he was going to trust that.

Clint needed to make it to a train station and figure out how to get where he was going. He polished off his sandwich and coffee before he started in on the yogurt. He looked up and saw another agent and this time Clint knew he had been spotted. The cafe was at least busy and they wouldn’t want to start a scene he hoped. But finding a way to his hostel and collecting his belongings was going to be difficult. He mulled it over as he ate his yogurt. He was better at working from a distance, but he wasn’t opposed some close quarters, especially since that meant he had a higher success rate of knocking someone out. But without knowing how many were trailing him…

Clint just wanted a nap now. He still didn’t know why he was being trailed, tracked down like a criminal.  _ Am I a criminal? I know I’ve killed before but that- that was for them, right? _ Clint finished his food and took care of the waste before he ordered another coffee. They weren’t coming at him yet, which meant they weren’t going to be making a scene.  _ Close quarters it is. _

Clint left the cafe and drank his coffee, trying to stay as calm and olivious as he could. He stopped to pet a dog… okay, three dogs, on his way back to his hostel. He slipped in and waved to the people who were running the place before he made his way to his room. He knew as soon as he got there, it was all going to start again. He grabbed a towel as he passed housekeeping and tugged on it. This was going to have to work because he had no options.

Clint took a moment before he opened the door. Instead of being greeted by an agent or five, there was a singular man standing in the room. Clint felt like he should recognize him, he was famous, he had seen that face on magazine covers. But it never clicked.

“I am just here to talk,” he said, holding his hands up.

“You and the three agents trailing me,” Clint replied back evenly, slowly closing the door. “Look man, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I haven’t done anything wrong. I just want… I want to be able to live without the pills and foggy memories.”

“That’s why I am here, a proposal,” the man said. He was shorter than Clint, but not by much. And what he lacked in height, he certainly made up for in muscles. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes and this look of calming self-assurance. Who he was was on the tip of Clint’s tongue, just barely brushing his memory bank. “Nick Fury sent me.”

“I don’t know the name,” Clint said. “Describe him?”

“Uh- well, he is a black man with-”

“Eye patch then,” Clint said. “The man who shot me when I fled America.” He hadn’t gotten him good, a small miracle, but it hurt like hell and scarred. “He wants me dead.”

“No, he wants you back,” the man countered. “He acknowledges that he made a mistake, a few mistakes. And he thinks they can fix what they did.”

Clint felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and he had to swallow down his anger. It was another memory, just at the wrong time. “I was one of his top agents, y’know?” Clint commented, trying to hold his composure as he scanned the room. His belongings were removed- he wouldn’t have a change of clothing, was forced down to three fake IDs now, and some cash but not enough. “I- I don’t remember much of that, of my time there, but I know I was damn good at what I did. And I… I know that whatever he did, he did it because he was scared. A lot of people were. But… but I was, I  _ am _ worth more than the short hand they dealt me.”

“I am not arguing that,” he said. “What they did to you was terrible, Clint, and there is no taking it back. But they want to try to fix it.”

“And you believe them?” Clint asked. “Because I sure as hell don’t.”

“What you’ll read on that information you stole? It’s going to hurt, Agent Barton.”

“Don’t. Don’t call me that,” Clint said quickly, pointing at the man angrily. “I’m not  _ him _ anymore. I don’t know-”

“You are him, you just don’t know it,” the man insisted. “I know this is probably scary for you but Director Fury can fix it.”

“He’ll do it again, y’know?” Clint said. He was itching to leave but he didn’t know exactly where agents were hiding. “Whatever he told you to try to get me back, he is lying. He is good at that. Sure, he wants me back. But he wants the control again. I’m a… I’m a ticking time bomb that is a problem for him. He needs me taken out.”

“Agent Bar-”

Clint heard it. It was soft, it was behind him. A soft hiss, a gas. They were trying to knock him out. Clint was in motion before the other man knew how to react. Clint didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he didn’t need to get caught either. The man moved to catch Clint and Clint wrapped the towel around his face, pulling him, making him disoriented before he pulled his legs up onto the man’s chest and pushed off.  _ Okay- this is going to be an absolute shit hole idea. _

Clint crashed through the widow and managed to grab onto a ledge, dropping from one story to the next as carefully as he could before he landed, the breath rushing out of him. He scrambled for purchase, knowing full well he didn’t have time to wallow in pain, to feel pity for himself. He needed to move. The first agent met him at the corner and Clint knocked the arm that held a gun up and turned, shoving his elbow into the man’s throat to knock him back. He caught the gun and dropped it just as quickly.  _ No, no guns.  _

He had practiced this scenario in his head many times the first two days he was in the city. He knew the exact path he needed to take. He weaved through the city, using whatever he could to distract and disrupt the other agents after him. Everything was a weapon if you tried hard enough. He was just thankful they still had trash can lids that he could throw at the feet of those following him, taking them out just enough to add distance for his plan to work.

Clint dropped down into a sewer system and closed the lid quickly and held his breath. Even if they did find him here, he could take them out as they came down from the manhole. He slowly made his way down, turning around so he wouldn’t touch the water and instead the pavement. He kept his eyes on the manhole cover, only looking up and down the system for any signs of life. 

They had sent someone after him he should feel more comfortable with. They wanted to earn his trust, and Clint knew they were going to start using people against him. But if they thought that man was going to work, and they knew more about him then he did of himself, that meant he couldn’t access Hungary; it felt too predictable. He was going to have to go to Poland next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small section of this chapter, at the very end, that makes reference to a possible suicide attempt. So I am bumping up the rating (because I think that's the right thing to do) and adding a tag because it may be said again later in the series as Clint tries to piece everything together. It won't be mentioned often but I'll add a note at the top of the chapter with a rough location whenever it is.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy! Someone comes in the next chapter. ;)

Clint twirled a cigarette between his fingers, his eyes straight ahead. Clint hated smoking, so why he bought a pack he had no idea. But the motion of twirling the tiny stick helped calm his mind. What he really wanted was a beer, but with people on his trail not having a clear mind was not an option.

His mind wasn’t very clear at the moment anyway. After his window stunt and when Clint had time to process, he remembered something very odd- being in the circus. He wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or a planted one, but he clearly remembered sneaking in at night when he was a kid and goofing around on the acrobatic equipment. He remembered how it felt like he was flying when we would let go of the bar and fall onto a net. He also remembered on more than one occasion having his ass firmly handed to him for being somewhere he wasn’t allowed to be.

He had a brother, or at least he thought he did. He kinda looked like Clint in a lot of ways, minus the fact his hair had a more brown tone to it while Clint’s was strictly blond. He wondered what happened to the man, or if he was even still alive. Clint could picture his mother and father, could remember having a crummy at best childhood, but he couldn’t remember names or many details. The details he could remember were hiding all throughout the house- in a closet, under the sink, anywhere he could fit, no matter how tight the squeeze, and escape from the storm that was his father. He knew Iowa used to be home, an old farmhouse.

Clint was pulled from his thoughts when a rumble of thunder shook the windows of the building. Clint flinched before he sighed, dropping the unlit cigarette on the table so he could rub his eyes. He had moved to the Czech Republic for the short term, hoping that he could make his trail go stale again. Then he would move onto Hungary and south. He’d stop before he hit India then work his way back north. He was hoping if he could shake them long enough that he could visit Norway, Sweden, Finland- anywhere he could almost blend in minus the language barrier.

He looked down at the newspaper in front of him; he couldn’t read the language but the photos were enough. A sighting of Captain America in Germany. That was the man who was working with S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint determined. Why they would send Captain America after him, he had no idea. He didn’t have a connection with the man from what he could tell. The only context he had from his memory bank was that the man was a national hero in world war two and was lost to a plane accident. He could remember learning about the guy.

Clint needed sleep and he needed to take his hearing aids out. With as much pent up energy he had over the last several days, he was unable to achieve either for any length of time. If he didn’t manage to get sleep soon, he wasn’t sure mentally he could handle anything if it came up. The idea of leaving himself vulnerable was terrifying to Clint.

Lightning cracked across the sky and Clint saw the mixture of white and blue. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his stomach roll and he shoved his chair back and went to the bathroom. He leaned over the sink, his breathing picking up rapidly. He dipped his head down and turned the water on before he washed his face. He pulled out his hearing aids and walked out to the bedroom, setting them on the end table. He pulled the curtains closed as tightly as he could before he lowered himself down onto the bed, refusing to take off his shoes or clothes.

_ I want you to sleep now, Barton. You are safe here. No one can get to you. _ The voice in his head was so soft, soothing, reassuring. He almost could almost believe it as he curled up.  _ You know what happens to your body when you don’t sleep. _ He would make errors- anyone would. Increased irritability, depression, a lack of focus. Clint knew how bad it was to have insomnia, but his body only had two modes: sleep too much or don’t sleep at all.

_ Sleep, I have your back, dummy. _ Clint tried to push the female voice out of his head as quickly as it came. She used to be his rock, grounding him when he was having a bad day or night; now her voice only brought him pain. He didn’t know what he did to her, but he was sure that whatever feelings he had were justified. It made him sick to think about it.

_ “Does it ever make you nervous?” she asked, sitting cross legged on the ground, fiddling with an arrow. “I know something has to shake you.” _

_ Clint looked down and leaned over, plucking the arrow from her hands. “I’m brimming with confidence, oozing even,” he bragged, tapping the tip of her nose with the arrow before straightening. “Anyway- why do I need to be nervous? I’ve got you in my corner.” _

_ “Trusting another assassin isn’t a good idea,” she said pointedly. _

_ Clint rolled his eyes and lined up the shot, holding his breath before he released the arrow and swore. “Damn it.” _

_ “Clint-” _

_ “Yeah, yeah, I heard you, kinda working on this,” Clint said before he jogged to pick up the failed attempt. He jogged back and sat down, pressing his back into hers. “You sayin’ I should stop trusting you? Because I think we are a bit beyond that, Tasha.” He pulled one leg up and inspected the arrowhead. _

_ “We are who we are, Clint,” the redhead said. “What if-” _

_ “I try not to live for the what ifs, Natasha. I usually live by the seat of my pants,” Clint commented. He felt her head bump into the back of his as she sighed, completely done with him. That brought a smile to his face and he angled his head so that hers fell back and he could glance at her. “We cross that bridge when we get there, Nat. For now- we’ve got this.” _

_ “You know if something ever happens to S.H.I.E.L.D. every detail about our lives will be exposed,” Natasha pointed out. “We will be back to being public enemies number one and two.” _

_ “You put us too high up on that list,” Clint laughed. “If that happens… we disappear. We’ve both done it before. Lived before S.H.I.E.L.D.. We can do it again. And that was before we became us. With both of us combined? I think we are unstoppable.” He reached a hand backwards and felt Natasha slip a different arrow into it. He tossed the one he had and inspected the next one. _

_ “What is it, anyway?” _

_ “Boomerang arrow.” _

_ Natasha laughed and her head knocked into his again as she shook it. “What the hell do you need a boomerang arrow for?” _

_ Clint tilted his head to the side slightly, just for a moment. “Because in the end it comes back to you. And sometimes- that’s all you need to keep pushing ahead.” He turned quickly and scooted up, his legs on either side of her. “Don’t promise me this because, y’know, assassins. But… say that we will at least try to have each others back. If S.H.I.E.L.D. ever again tries to make the other kill-” _

_ “Clint.” _

_ “Nat.” He knew it was asking a lot. They had formed a bond, a trust, but that never changed who they were. Their sense of self-preservation had been so high for so long that while they had each others back, he was sure at least she would always choose herself. Clint? He wasn’t sure he could do the same anymore- not with Natasha. _

_ He felt her lean back against him. “You gave me a freebie, I’ll give you one,” she answered. “But I am not going to be your boomerang arrow.” _

_ Clint snorted and settled his chin on top of her head. “Sure you won’t.” _

Clint was stuck in his head again, feeling blank and full at the same time. Ever since he remembered her name, it seemed like every little thing reminded him of her. It felt like there was a rush of memories that came back to him. Knowing her before S.H.I.E.L.D., bringing her to S.H.I.E.L.D., and all the big moments between the two. He remembered the way she was glare at people, only for her eyes to light up for just a moment when he joined her. The sparring- that was terrible, hurt, but he couldn’t imagine sparring with anyone else. They knew each other like they were the same person, could read each other like they were born to match. He knew it was a running bet at work, about their relationship, and they fed into it without a care in the world. To Clint, they felt unstoppable- but clearly they were because she wasn’t with him, and she wouldn’t have left him, not like this.

He only left his hotel room once in three days, collecting as much food as he could so he wouldn’t have to risk it again. Going to the store had been a nightmare- he would see something that would make something snap into place and it felt like it was going to drown him with a sea of emotions. The crowds were keeping him on edge for the first time and he didn’t know how long. Clint had liked crowds- crowds let him blend in, disappear.

Finding out in a dream he had been an assassin was jarring in itself. With how much Clint detested guns, it was a shock that he had used one in his past willingly. He could remember bits of that now, knowing they were true because they were memories S.H.I.E.L.D. probably didn’t want him to have access to. He couldn’t really remember names, sometimes only blurry faces, but he knew he completed “missions” with extreme accuracy. He just couldn’t figure out why or when he switched back to archery. He had done it in the circus- that’s where he learned he had an eye for shooting, but at some point he switched to guns, then switched back. Those pieces just weren’t aligning.

Clint stared at the food on the dresser, eyeing it warily. He needed to eat- it had been over twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t hungry. The last attempt had him in the bathroom for the better half of a day because he felt sick every time he thought of her. He just wished whatever memory of her he had last would come back to him. Maybe with some clarity he could move on, forgive himself for whatever he had done.

He forced himself up and collect a protein bar he had bought, walking towards the window. He didn’t have his hearing aids in so he cautiously pulled back the curtains.  _ No rain, we are safe. _ He opened the window to get a whiff of the fresh air and sat down under it. If nothing else, he was getting sleep while staying in Pilsen. He handled remembering events better if he was dreaming than when he was awake and they would overcome him. If he had a good morning he told himself he needed to go out and explore. Being on the run but not enjoying the little things seemed like a sin. And from his window? Pilsen looked gorgeous with all the old architecture.

Clint finished his protein bar and turned around, resting his forearms on the window sill and laying his head on them as he gazed out. The warm, fresh air hit his face when a breeze came by and he closed his eyes, soaking in the sun. 

_ You don’t deserve this _ was what the little voice in his head kept telling him but he pushed it back. He  _ needed _ to find something to ground him again. If it wasn’t going to be her, he was going to have to do it for himself. Clint knew a small part of him had done it before, had relied on himself and only himself, but it was hard. Clint craved attention, affection- he needed people to remind him that he was worth it. For now, turning his face to the sun and taking in it’s warmth was going to have to do.

Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out the flash drive.  _ What you’ll read on that information you stole? It’s going to hurt, Agent Barton.  _ Clint believed him and it was the only reason he hadn’t attempted to buy a computer again to access the stolen files. Steve Rogers was just trying to help, even if Clint had the feeling he was just a pawn in someone else’s game. Or maybe that was another fake memory- maybe Captain America was actually a huge dick and knew exactly what Fury would do if he got his hands on Clint again. It was hard to believe, the man looked like he was a puppy just needed to be loved or something, hell if Clint knew. But Steve Rogers looked like he was a decent man.

Clint ran his thumb over the drive before he put it away. He didn’t know if he was just a coward or if his subconscious knew he wasn’t ready to the overload, but Clint couldn’t read it yet. Clint wasn’t stable enough, wasn’t safe enough. He looked down at his wrist, saw the outline of a few scars that he couldn’t remember earning but he knew they tied into all of this. He didn’t want to risk doing that again.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Thwack _ . The sound gave Clint goosebumps as he lowered his arms, his hand still tightly gripping the recurve bow in his hand, the arrow dead center on the target. It felt so right to be there in that moment, to relish in something he  _ knew _ he was born to do. He picked up another arrow, running his finger over it before he lined up his next shot.

He should have done this a long time ago- he should have found an archery range that rented out so he could practice, so that he could find some peace. The next arrow embedded next to the first with the same satisfying sound and Clint couldn’t imagine a more perfect sound if he tried. All the tension, all the stress, was melting right from his bones and for a moment he felt like maybe life wouldn’t be so bad anymore. Maybe he could make it through everything, endure the pain of running, never having a home, as long as he had times where he could do this.

It was all muscle memory, the pull of the string, the lining the shot, and the breathing. He didn’t even have to think about it, he automatically remembered. If Clint had to guess, it was something so embedded into his being that S.H.I.E.L.D. was never going to be able to wipe it from his soul. He had a feeling a lot of things about him that he knew how to do were the same; the running, the leaps of faith, the close combat- all of that felt like it was woven into every fiber of him that it would never be forgotten, though it could be downplayed through whatever means they had tried.

Clint stayed there in the moment for close to an hour, embedding the arrows into an intricate design as he went. It was probably too flashy and showy, but it left him feeling lighter than air. It was the high he had been looking for since he ran from the states. He considered going out and spending his disposable income on a new set, something he could call his own; but then if he had to run last minute he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop just to grab his belongings and the thought of leaving another bow behind hurt more than it should.

Clint had moved to Romania about three months ago, and so far, he was thriving. He found a job that would pay under the table, and his paper trail was kept nice and short. He had a feeling the shopkeeper was less than savory as a person, but whatever baked items they didn’t sell within a certain time period Clint was allowed to donate. Clint spent hours of his week at the homeless shelter, just talking to people who wanted to talk, and knew enough English to get by. Between the little old ladies at the shop who came in and the people at the shelter, Clint was slowly picking up on some Romanian.

He rented a run down apartment, but again- they let him do it on a cash only basis. Clint was familiar with the clientele that came around every night, and while it wasn’t exactly ideal, he made it work; on the plus side, as long as he took his hearing aids out he wouldn’t have to  _ listen _ to it. And thus far there was only one incident where Clint felt like he had to get involved, and he was glad he had. Even so, a few of his neighbors he was close enough to say hello to and help carry groceries. There was even an elderly gentleman who made him come inside his apartment to fix his antenna for his television.

The day was warm considering the season and Clint decided it was a good day to walk around the city. Summer turned into fall and there were many damp days that tended to keep Clint inside. There were street vendors set up, selling their fares; Clint was a sucker for the street food, no matter where he was in the world. They weren’t so regulated, sure, but they always provided the best flavors, the best portions. Clint walked through the market, looking at the trinkets. He remembered doing this many times before, collected a little something for her when they were apart; he could remember the few times she had returned the gesture and just how much that meant to him.

Clint pushed himself back when he saw two suspicious people. They looked like they were trying to blend in, but they looked too America to ever truly go unnoticed. But they weren’t looking for him, but rather a man a few stalls down, looking at fruit. That guy also stuck out like a sore thumb in Clint’s mind, though he at least was doing a better job than the other two.. He had looked up and must have caught sight of the two men because he was on the move, moving the way Clint would have. Clint barely saw it but it was there on one of the men- a small gun holster with a bird emblem. It wasn’t until Clint caught sight of a small tattoo peeking out from his sleeve that his mind went into overload again; something about a skull and tentacles just set him on edge.

Without much of a thought, Clint pushed his way through the crowds, taking a few side streets. He didn’t know why he was doing it, he knew he shouldn’t get involved unless he was prepared to be on the run again, but his feet were moving before his mind had caught up to him. Several streets and a turn later he heard the scuffle. He leaned around the corner and his stomach dropped at the sight of the fight. The man didn’t seem like he needed help, he was handling the two on the ground well enough on his own. He wasn’t trying to kill them, which Clint took as a good sign, but he was overpowering him.

There was a man in a window, pulling the window up. Clint was  _ positive _ he heard something spoken in Russian and he watched as the man backed away. Another word and he saw him reaching for his head and-  _ what the hell is happening? _

Clint grabbed a trash can lid and ran down the alley. At the third word the man was doubled over and begged for the man to stop. Clint rounded the lid and flung it at the window, watching it ricochet between the window sill. Clint reached down at one of the fallen agents and pulled a gun up, took aim and shot the man’s shoulder.

He looked at the man with the long hair. “This way,” Clint said before he took off, barely brushing against the other.

They had made it three blocks before he felt a hand on his shoulder pull him back, then felt himself being flung to a wall. Before he could move there was a knife at his throat and Clint was staring the other man in the eyes. Clint struggled to catch his breath while trying to keep himself still.

“Who are you?” the man asked. “Why did you help me?”

“We aren’t safe yet if there are more,” Clint replied. “My… my apartment is in two blocks. Inside- we are safer inside.” Clint reached up and touched his wrist, the man tensed and pull away.

“Who are you?” he repeated.

“The name’s Clint,” he answered. “Come on, you can run if you want. But I  _ can’t _ get caught. They catch me and it’s back to square one and I can’t go back again.”

The man hesitated before he pulled away. Clint only needed a moment to compose himself before he headed back to his apartment. He knew he was being paranoid for all the right reasons as he checked his surroundings before he made a mad dash for the door of the building. He felt a little calmer inside the building where there were fewer windows, where there was less of a chance he was spotted. He only hoped the three people he took out didn’t know who he was so he could still stay in the same town for a little while longer.

As soon as Clint unlocked the door to his apartment he was shoved inside. Clint stumbled and held his hands up as he watched the man locked the door then closed all the blinds. Clint didn’t make a move, not sure what weapons the man could possibly have on him. He backed up when the man stepped close and tried not to touch a wall. With time to breath, Clint tried to mesmerize as much as he could. He was shorter by a good five inches or so and had nearly shoulder length brown hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in days, maybe weeks. But it was the haunted eyes that kept Clint in a trance for a spell longer.

“Why did you help me?” He didn’t exactly sound mad, but rather curious and suspicious. In the dimly lit apartment, Clint could barely make out the blue eyes that were a little darker than his own. He didn’t seem as threatening anymore, even with his jaw set tight.

“Just… saw a guy running from the same people who are chasing me and… probably not the smartest idea ever,” Clint admitted. “You… uh, you aren’t going to murder me or something are you?” he asked. “Because, I mean, I can fight.”

“What?” the man asked. “No. No, I’m not going to-” he seemed just as flabbergasted as Clint was at this point. “You said your name was Clint?” Clint nodded. “I’m… sorry Clint.”

He was fast and Clint just barely had enough time to move away from his outstretched hand. Clint kicked the back of his knee and got closer to the opening of the room, giving him more space to maneuver if he had to. But the other man was fast, pushed closer, and didn’t seem to slow down with most of Clint’s hits, not that Clint was trying to hurt him too badly, he just needed him stunned. Clint ducked and weaved away, blocking his hand from coming close by diverting his arm, though he tried to stay as far away from the metal one as possible.

When the man did manage to grab Clint, he pushed him back towards the bedroom and Clint scrambled for purchase more, tried to dig into his arm to get him to let go. Clint threw himself back, bringing his knees up, but the other man rolled with it, swinging them back up to their feet.

“I don’t need you telling people where I am,” the man told Clint, shifting his grip. “So I’m sorry but-”

The sound of glass shattering made them both jump away from each other and Clint pressed himself against the wall, trying to stay away from the windows. His ears were ringing as he looked outside the bedroom window. His eyes locked in on his bag across the floor and he dove for it, pulling it up with him as he stood on the other side.

“Guess they tracked us,” the man muttered.

“Guess so,” Clint replied. “So… bring the fight to us or try to run for it?”

“You are kidding me, right?” the man asked in disbelief.

“You’re right. Follow me and don’t get shot,” Clint answered.

He hadn’t practiced this escape route- he wasn’t even sure if it would work. He moved to the front door just as it was being busted open. He stopped and knocked one gun away, trying to occupy one guy while the other man handled two. Clint swept one man’s feet from under him and dropped down, connecting his fist to the man’s temple.  _ One down _ -

_ Nh, shit _ . Clint felt someone grab his ankle and he turned with the motion, trying to use his other foot to wedge the man’s hand off of him. He flinched when he heard a gunshot and felt his leg drop. He scrambled to push away and looked at the man with him. Both of them gave a little nod before taking off.

Clint was thankful that no one was coming down the back way as he shoved the door open and stopped out in the sunlight. He squinted and looked around before he felt the man who was trailing him head left. Clint reached out and grabbed a handful of his jacket and tried to jerk him back, a fist whizzing by his head while he ducked.

“No, man, not that way,” Clint said. “Bad cover, too many blind spots for hiding.”

“It’s the quickest way to-”

“Listen to me,” Clint said urgently. “You go that way and S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to find you. They are expecting-”

“I’m running from HYDRA.”

Clint felt like he knew what that was, but it wouldn’t come to him. “I… I don’t know-”

He ducked at another gunshot and tugged the man in the direction on where he was heading. Dodging and weaving through public was difficult, especially when you have to keep your eyes out for someone who is shooting at you but you didn’t know from where. Clint was fairly certain that one had been from a rooftop he had missed.

Something zapped him as he passed and Clint winced and fell over, curling against the shooting pain in his side. He felt a weight on his back and someone grabbing at his wrists. Panic started to settle in as his muscles refused to move the way he needed them too.

“Thought you could run forever, Hawkeye?” a man said mockingly in his ear. He  _ knew _ that voice, he hated that voice and wanted to pummel the man behind it, but he couldn’t get his body to agree to what he wanted. Clint squeezed his eyes shut as he felt something sharp in his neck. “Make sure he stays secured- fucker knows how to slip handcuffs. If he starts putting up a fight, kill him. We don’t need him that bad.”

Clint felt himself slipping away from whatever he had been injected with. He knew someone had pulled him up and was dragging him before his body hit the ground again. He rolled onto his side and tried to open his eyes, tried to see what was happening, but he was too tired to do anything but sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint woke up with a raging headache, and opening his eyes wasn’t an option at the moment. He had tried that but the pain was enough where he was certain he’d throw up. The two things he noticed for certain was that he was still restrained and he couldn’t hear anything, which meant his hearing aids finally died or someone had taken them out. He tried to move a little, trying to figure out if anything was broken or bruised, but he felt like jello still from whatever drug had been in his system.

When someone grabbed the front of his shirt roughly and hauled him up to sit his eyes flew open before he squinted against the light. He was greeted by those hauntingly beautiful blue eyes he had seen and lips moving. Clint looked from the eyes to the lips, trying to process what exactly was being said.

“I can’t- you talk weird. I can’t,” Clint said, but he had no idea how softly he spoke them. “I can’t hear you. Erm, deaf.” 

The world started tilting on him and he swallowed back the sinking feeling in his stomach as the man stared at him. The hand slowly let him go and Clint leaned against the wall behind him and closed his eyes. He felt feverish, which should make sense. If he could just take his shirt off, maybe that damp, sticky feeling would leave him. But they felt heavy still and he was not going to attempt that.

He opened his eyes again and observed the man. He looked painfully confused as to what to do. He took a moment then pointed to the right and Clint followed his finger. “Hearing aids,” Clint said before his eyes went back to the other man. He nodded and walked over and held them out for Clint. Clint looked at his hand and shifted his weight a little, licking his lips as he tried to concentrate. He was surprised how much effort it took to pick them up and put them in after turning them on.

“You’re deaf.” It wasn’t an insult, even if it sounded like he said it in disbelief. “Who are you? Why do they know you? Why does HYDRA know you?”

“I have no idea,” Clint answered. He heard a bit of a snarl and his nose wrinkled. “Think whatever you want, but I don’t  _ know _ . I don’t know a lot of things and-” It was like a light bulb went off in his brain and he instantly went into panic mode.  _ The flash drive _ . He looked down and heavily tapped on his front pockets, despite to reach for the back and whining when he couldn't get a good enough feel so he had to move away.

“What are you-”

“That flash drive, it had everything,” Clint said before he felt a lump forming in his throat. “I forgot about it and now- now all that work down the drain. I can’t-” He closed his eyes and hit his head against the wall a little too sharply for his own liking before he felt a sob break through. He pulled his legs up and leaned forward, his forehead resting against it. He didn’t care if he was crying in front of a stranger; he didn’t care about much anymore. That was the only way Clint thought he’d ever be able to put his puzzle pieces back together and now it was gone.

“What is so important about a… flash drive?” the man asked after giving Clint a few minutes.

“It had everything known about me on it,” Clint admitted, rubbing his face against his knee before he settled back, sniffling as he did do. The man looked puzzled. “You won’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Clint swallowed back the lump in his throat. “I don’t know… so something happened. I don’t know what but it was something that made a lot of people nervous. And they, S.H.I.E.L.D., they tried to erase me. Make me someone else. An experiment. But it never worked, not perfectly. And now… now I am running for them, apparently your people know who I am so that’s another group of people I have to run from, and all this time I have no idea what I did or who I am really. All I know if I was higher up somehow, very good at what I did and… I don’t know. Guess people want me dead for it.” He took a deep breath. “I was just hoping for some answers.”

Clint looked up at the man, trying to get a feel for the situation. He didn’t look angry or upset, he didn’t particularly strike Clint as wanting to do much of anything. He just looked tired, maybe a little anxious. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door.

“Hey!” Clint called out, surprised. “You can’t just-” he heard something jiggle the handle for a moment before the footsteps disappeared. “Awwww man, I have to pee,” Clint sighed.

_ Alright, Barton. This doesn’t look good. I need a plan. _ Clint tried to get to his feet but his legs wobbled under him so he sat back down, opting to drag himself closer to the boarded up window. He peeked out from a crack but couldn’t see much of anything, a building blocking his view. Not that it mattered much- until the handcuffs were off, he was stuck. It looked like he was in it for the long haul.

Clint wasn’t as impressed the next time the man came back into the room. He looked more looming than before, a little more stern, maintaining a murder gaze if Clint had ever seen one, and he marched like he had a plan in mind. So instead of shying away like a normal person would do, Clint rose an eyebrow and stared right back, trying to come across as unimpressed.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Pretty sure we’ve been down this road,” Clint answered.

“Who do you work for?”

“No one. Unemployed. Well, not true. I work in a bakery.” The man was starting to look angry, frustrated by Clint’s approach. “The pay is shit, but it’s under the table so- can’t really complain. I am going to go ahead and assume I don’t get to go back.”

“Why did you help me?”

Clint groaned and rolled his head back. “I told you, I don’t  _ know _ . I saw a guy with a tattoo that set me on edge and I figured ‘well if anyone looks like they are straight out of a mobster bad guy flick, it’s that guy’ and I decided to be stupid.”

What Clint wasn’t expecting was to be hauled off his ass and brought down so his face was level with the man’s. Clint put his hands on the other man’s chest, knowing there wasn’t too terribly much he could do at the moment. They stared at each other, Clint’s once unimpressed expression dropping to something he was sure was more calculating as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. While he didn’t want to come across was threatening, he was fairly certain he was failing at that.

“Let’s try this again-”

“My answers are the same,” Clint snapped.

“So let me get this straight,” he growled. “You, who is running from… S.H.I.E.L.D., decided to help a guy you didn’t even know who was running from an organization called HYDRA, who is also looking for you.”

“Okay, but it’s not like I knew that last tidbit,” Clint pointed out. “Memory loss. Remember? Kind of a bitch.”

“And  _ then _ ,” the man continued without batting an eye, “when you  _ did _ find out you still ran with me.”

Clint was silent for a moment, mulling it over. “Okay, but when you word it that way, it sounds stupid.”

“ _ You _ sound stupid. This is-”

“And you currently have a man that  _ you _ don’t know locked away in your bedroom,” Clint pointed out. “A man running from both my people  _ and _ your people. So that does that tell you?” he asked. The man was silent, watching him before he looked a little less angry and a little more concerned. “So I am going to go out on a limb here and guess that I’m not some Joe Schmo, run of the mill, every day guy.”

“You realize I could easily kill you right now, right?” he asked.

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “Do it then. Just do me a favor, will ya? Make sure I am nice and dead before you dump my body? Kinda don’t want to end up as some lab experiment again.”

Clint barely caught himself when the man shoved him back roughly. Clint stood in his spot, not even close to ready to back down.  _ This is stupid, this is insane. Not a time to show dominance. He has the upper hand here, Barton. _ At least from his distance Clint didn’t have to stare him down all hunched over.

“So… can a guy at least go to the bathroom in peace?” Clint asked after a few minutes of silence. The man huffed out a reply and left the room, slamming the door. “Oh… oh yeah, super cute!” Clint called after him. “You slam the door like a goddamn teenage girl.”

Clint sat back down and closed his eyes. The day was turning into a roller coaster, his emotions everywhere. It left him feeling a little disoriented, raw and on edge. He needed to find a way to play it cool, let things simmer down. He needed the handcuffs off so he could get the hell out, which meant he needed to work on earning the other man’s trust. And that- that sounded like it was going to be a hell of a challenge.

The door opened an hour later and Clint held his breath. Clint looked up from his spot and the other man stood firmly in place, looking unsure of himself. He watched the other man hesitantly walked over, sitting just out of reach. Clint eyed him before he looked away. He knew he was being watched and he wasn’t exactly a fan of holding eye contact at the moment. He was too focused on having to go to the bathroom. But he was positive if he had said it, the man would have just left the room again.

“What do you know about HYDRA?” he asked.

Clint stared up at him. “So… I am guessing those are the people with the skulls and tentacles, right?” Clint asked, only to get a nod in response. “Alright. So… limited here. You said organization. I am guessing-”

“I don’t need you to guess-”

“Look pal, neither of us are really getting anywhere here,” Clint said firmly. “I don’t know, alright? I don’t know a lot of things. What I know is that seeing that tattoo made me very… angry, on edge. The only reason I can think of for following you was because I figured if they were after you, and I don’t like them, then chances were I was going to like you.” 

The last bit sounded stupid the moment it came out of Clint’s mouth and he wished he could take them back. The man didn’t move a muscle, opting to watch Clint instead. It was unnerving the change. He wasn’t angry, frustrated or upset- he just observed blankly.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Clint said, hearing his own nerves finally leak out. “I just know I am in this alone and I made a choice to step in. Why, I can’t say. So far that choice isn’t really paying off. I am handcuffed in a bedroom with a man who saved me after I saved him. And… I mean, thanks for that. Whoever was on me, I knew that voice and I hated it.”

There was more silence and Clint watched his feet jiggle a little. He told himself he needed to earn this man’s trust somehow, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. And Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to. He just wanted to use the restroom, eat something, and sleep it all off. Maybe when he woke up, this would be a dream and he could go back to that bakery and somewhat flirt with the little old ladies in Romania. He could find something comfortable again.

“They called me Soldat… Asset.” Clint looked over at him from the corner of his eye. “That’s all I was for them. A means to an end. An assassin.” He didn’t particularly sound hurt by the admission, more like he was stating a fact that Clint found uncomfortable, forcing him to look away.

“You got the short end of the stick,” he commented with a mumble.

“I don’t remember everything either,” he continued. “Pieces come back, mostly in dreams. Nightmares.” Clint turned his head and looked back over and felt his stomach flip a little. He looked overwhelmed while he struggled to control his emotions, which happened almost at the drop of a dime. It was painful to watch because he knew that look, recognized the feelings the man was going through. He must have noticed Clint’s gaze before he put some steel behind his eyes, the walls going up.

“So… what do I call you? Because I’m sure as hell not calling you Soldat or Asset.”

His muscles tightened and Clint was waiting for him to turn and attack. But he sagged after a moment, his eyes getting a far away look. “A man… he called me Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Clint asked and the other man looked up, the far away look turning to something more haunted as he got up. “Wait- hey!” Clint called but he was gone.

Without knowing what exactly he had done, Clint wasn’t sure how to fix it. The name Bucky sent him over some edge, but he was the one that  _ offered _ it, otherwise Clint would have suggested something else. Now he was stuck in an apartment with an emotionally unstable assassin who had handcuffed him. That didn’t mean Clint couldn’t hold his own, but it sure as hell made everything a little more difficult.  _ Okay, this looks better, the door is open _ he thought to himself as he looked around the room, waiting for Bucky, or whatever he wanted to be called, to return.

Clint could only handle being on his own for a little while longer before he needed to get up. He had to use the restroom, there was no more prolonging that. He made it up on shaky legs, the world tilting a little and he stuck close to the wall for support. He looked around the room he was in before he carefully made his way out, finding the bathroom right next door. He stared at the mirror a little too long, his face littered with small scratches from a fall, a few bruises that didn’t look like they were threatening to get worse. 

Clint hung his head and leaned forward, washing his face to the best of his abilities. He tugged at the handcuffs, tried to figure out if he could escape them, but they were secure enough he wasn’t sure he could slip them in any way. He sat down on the bathroom tile and leaned back, relieving aching muscles.

He needed to make a plan on what to do next. He wasn’t sure where he was, what was collected from his apartment. If he only had what was on his person, Clint was stuck with only two passports and a little money. It wouldn’t be enough for much of anything. He looked up at the bathroom ceiling for a moment before he closed his eyes. He had never felt so screwed in his life, and that was saying something.  _ I have been through worse _ he tried to tell himself as he calmed his nerves.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint woke up to the smell of garlic, his mouth instantly watering. After three days of eating peanut butter sandwiches, which weren’t the  _ worst _ things in the world, the smell of something garlic was welcoming. Clint was hoping that Bucky would share, but he really didn’t know what to expect from the other man.

It had been three days since he woke up in the apartment, and so far he had only seen the bedroom and bathroom. The quiet was starting to get under his skin a little but there wasn’t too much he could do about it. Whenever Bucky came to give him a bathroom break, Clint would try anything to get him to talk. However, it seemed like anything Clint knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t helpful to Bucky, and Clint couldn’t remember much about HYDRA. What little he did know, he shared- like his job considered them terrorists, which Clint assumed was right based solely on the amount of anger he felt even thinking about them. But even that didn’t impress Bucky. The only thing that mildly interested Bucky was Clint’s random memory of helping dismantle a base, but he couldn’t remember where.

Clint looked at the door which was left open and that was new. For three days, whenever Bucky remembered, Clint would be locked into the room; maybe not locked exactly, but there was a barrier and with Bucky claiming to be an assassin, Clint wasn’t going to push his luck. However, this was the first time in a long time the door was left open and Clint was feeling risky- he blamed it on the quiet and alone time. So he made it up and out of the room, not exactly hiding the fact he had left it. He shuffled down to the living room and looked around, trying to memorize everything as quickly as he could. It was small, dingy and run down, but it was warm. The blinds let in some sunlight, which was a welcome change. But from what Clint could take in, there was no television, and no visible weapons. It was almost disappointing, though he wasn’t sure why.

“Kitchen.”

Clint turned and looked in that direction before he moved slowly. Kitchen meant knives, and Clint certainly didn’t want to be around those if the guy was a good assassin. Looking down, Clint eased his socks off, wanting more grip in order to move quickly if this turned sour. He placed his shoulder against the wall and leaned in so he could peer around the corner.

“If I wanted you dead I would have done it,” Bucky said, his voice a little rougher than it had been earlier. “You aren’t even trying to walk quietly.”

“Also trying not to get stabbed, become part of a stew,” Clint answered and he was surprised by the happiness behind his voice. “Sorry. I’ll try to be less-”

“Only makes sense,” Bucky said before he turned. Clint sucked in a breath when he saw the glint of metal that was his one arm and tried desperately not to stare.  _ Holy shit- he’s got a robot arm.  _ “You just now noticed?”

“Sorry,” Clint squeaked. “I… uhm… it looks cool?” He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but it spilled out before he could stop himself. And it did look interesting- all the plates, everything moving almost like a real arm would, some hiccups in the system, even if minute.

Bucky’s face scrunched and he leaned against the counter. “What are we doing?” he asked in a defeated sort of way. Clint frowned and slipped in and pulled himself up to sit on the counter. When he did, Bucky looked up with a glare. “Did you mother raise you with no manners? What are you doin’?”

“You have a Brooklyn drawl,” Clint observed in awe. “I know Brooklyn.”

“That doesn’t- I need you to focus,” Bucky said, somewhere between annoyed and resigned. “What are we doing?” He sounded more firm this time, needing an answer.

Clint knew what he was referring to but he didn’t have a good answer. If they were smart, they would split up. Hell, Bucky should have left him behind for the taking. Clint was in a bit more of a precarious position with the handcuffs still on, and was almost at the mercy of Bucky. He tried to push that thought of his head before he could run with it.  _ Remember- we are trying to gain trust here if we ever want to leave alive, Barton. _

“Giving each other a chance to catch their breath before we realize this isn’t ideal?” Clint offered. Bucky frowned and looked away. “Look, I want it to be- I mean-” Clint looked down. “Shit, I am not good at this.”

There were a few minutes of quiet between them, Clint hearing the clinking of a spoon stirring a pot. He should offer to let the guy put a bag over his head and drop him somewhere, that way his location was still a secret for him. But then Clint realized he didn’t have anywhere to go. He couldn’t go back to his apartment now, people knew where that was, which meant he couldn’t go back to that town. He was going to have to start from scratch again, which was an annoying slow process.

“Cut the bread.”

Clint looked up from the floor, eyeing Bucky. “Excuse me? Is that some new age-”

“I baked bread. Cut it. Knives are there.”

Clint looked around the kitchen before his eyes landed on the bread Bucky was referring to. He got down and opened the drawer and looked at the knives. “They wouldn’t let me near these,” he commented.

“Not worried about you trying to stab me, to be honest,” Bucky said without turning around from his stove.

“Not what they were worried about either,” Clint replied before he bit his lip. He flinched at the small memory in his mind and closed his eyes. He grabbed a knife and stared at the bread before he started to slice it off in thick chunks.

“Should I be concerned with you and a knife?”

“Mhhh- depends on what you mean,” Clint answered. “I’m not feeling very murdery today. Check back Thursday?”

“It is Thursday.”

Clint looked back at the man. “Awww man- guess it’s now or never.” Bucky tensed and turned around. “It’s-uh- a horrible joke. No, I’m fine with knives. Knives are great.” He refocused on his task after Bucky broke their gaze, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “What are we doing?” Clint asked to echo Bucky’s earlier question, met only with silence for a few minutes. Clint wanted to know where the other man stood on the issue, get some kind of reading so he didn’t feel the underlying anxiety of the situation.

“Glasses are there. Get water and go sit on the couch. I’ll bring the soup and bread.”

Clint moved to obey, getting the two glasses and walking out. If Bucky wasn’t in the mood to answer it, didn’t know how to, then Clint wasn’t going to push. Clint looked out the window to take in the view.  _ Romania still. How did he manage this? _ Clint stood in his spot and watched as a flake fell and blinked, walking to the window with the glasses in his hand still. It was snowing, just barely. He smiled a little and relaxed.

“Should have closed those in case someone spots us.”

Clint turned and looked back at Bucky, took in the nervousness as his eyes flickered between Clint and window. With a sigh, Clint set the glasses down on the ground before he pulled the blinds. He bent down to grab the glasses again and sat down on the couch, setting the glasses between them. He took the bowl Bucky offered and stared at the food silently.

When it was just Clint, he had left the blinds open. He was used to people not recognizing him, going unnoticed. He supposed having a metal arm probably was hard to hide, and why would you want to hide it inside? But with the snow gently falling, Clint wanted to relax into the moment and drift off with every flake.

He took a bite from the bread first and blinked. “You made this from scratch?” he asked, looking over at the other man. Bucky gave two uncertain nods, not bothering to look over; if Clint was to guess the other man was actually nervous to glance Clint’s way. “It’s… really good. Rosemary. Italian seasonings. It’s kinda like a slice of heaven.” Clint smiled and dipped the bread into the soup and let it soak.

He could barely make out the man’s lips twitching up. “A little slice of heaven? You have low standards.”

“The lowest,” Clint agreed, sinking into the couch a little more.

They ate their meal in near silence, the only sounds breaking it was the scraping of metal against the bowls as both of them seemed to go for every last drop. Clint looked over to watch Bucky use his bread to clean the bowl, which was something Clint wish he would have thought of.

“Want another slice of heaven?” Bucky asked, glancing over at Clint. Compared to the roughness earlier, his voice was a bit softer, more spirited. And lord did that Brooklyn drawl come back out just for the moment and make Clint weak.

Clint shook his head and stretched out his legs. “I’ve got a question,” he said. “How did you even get us here? Wherever here is. I know it’s Romania still but-”

“Magic.”

“Bullshit.”

Clint watched Bucky’s face, a hint of a smile there, mostly behind his eyes. “Does it matter? I got you.”

“And… and why?” Clint asked. “Probably would have been a hell of a lot easier running from them if you weren’t dragging me around with you.”

“Oh, no, you are right,” Bucky said with amusement. “It would have been a hell of a lot easier. You weren’t helpful at all.”

“I was  _ drugged _ , thank you,” Clint said defensively. Bucky nodded, raising his eyebrows as if to say  _ right _ \- he was screwing with Clint now. “Whatever.” 

Bucky looked a little proud of himself before he looked away, his expression softening. Clint couldn’t help but notice the shifts in emotions over the last he wasn’t sure how many hours. It reminded him of when he first got away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and was trying to find that balance again, lasting for a few months until he knew how to control that part of him again. Clint wondered how much of Bucky’s past mirrored his own from that aspect alone.

“Can I wash the dishes?” Bucky frowned and looked back over and Clint tried to ignore the way he was being assessed. “You cooked, it’s the least I can do. Cutting bread and getting way doesn’t really count.”

“I’m not taking those off,” Bucky said decisively, making a point to look at the handcuffs.

“Can’t blame you for that,” Clint muttered, looking at the handcuffs himself. “Let me wash the dishes. You go take a shower.” Bucky tensed. “No offense. But your hair…” Bucky was silent for a moment before he snorted. “I’m not really going anywhere with handcuffs on. And even if I did, I’d be just as likely to be caught as you would be. Neither of us really want that. So… until we figure out whats going on, I guess we gotta find a way to work this.”

Clint was surprised when Bucky’s hand reached over and placed his bowl gently on top of Clint’s, being careful of Clint’s fingers. Clint watched the motion before he looked up. The edges of nervousness were still there, but they had dropped a fraction. He looked a little more sure, a little less confused as his eyes locked on Clint’s. Clint wasn’t sure if he stopped breathing but his world felt a little lighter. Bucky stood up and muttered something before he disappeared to the bathroom and Clint could breathe again.

Washing the dishes proved to be a little challenging but nothing Clint couldn’t work around. He ate another slice of bread before he wiped down the counters, before he found cracked containers for the bread and leftover soup. The bathroom was quiet by the time he got back to the living room but Bucky hadn’t emerged. Clint was content with that- the guy probably had to tame that knotted mess that was his hair.

All his racing thoughts seemed to quiet down for the moment. He laid back on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a spell before he closed his eyes. He didn’t exactly feel exhausted, but his body was happy to sag against the lumpy couch and stay in that moment.  _ It has been a weird day… or two… or life. _


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up to a silent world was unnerving. Clint took a moment to process that thought before he sat straight up. A blanket covered him and he looked around the dark apartment. He had fallen asleep again, and this time Bucky had taken out his hearing aids, which made Clint feel sick to his stomach. _I didn’t even notice someone touching me._ He had allowed himself to become too comfortable, which was a dangerous mistake. It was a disturbing thought and he fought to keep the panic down. Instead he focused, letting his eyes adjust to the minimal light. He picked up his hearing aids and put them in carefully and waited.

There were more noises that made the hair on Clint’s neck stand up. Kicking, shuffling, more suppressed whimpers. He heard a whimper and looked towards the bedroom. Clint was on his feet and walked back to the room. Bucky was in there alone, which was a blessing Clint had hoped for. He was on the mattress, squirming in his sleep, his eyes screwed shut in pain it looked like. And Clint- Clint didn’t know how to handle someone having a nightmare. Did you wake them up? Did you let them sleep through it? He didn’t see a weapon nearby, so that was a good sign. He let it go on for another minute before it became too much to watch.

“Bucky?” Clint asked, kneeling down next to him. “Hey, come on, wake up. It’s alright.” He slid a hand down Bucky’s arm, trying to comfort him. “You can-”

Clint didn’t have time to process the movement. He was flat on his back, the cool metal fingertips pinning him down by his neck. His hands shot up and grabbed onto the wrist and his fingers tried to dig in without a second thought. Clint recognized the blank stare of someone still in a dream state, though there was something a little more frightening behind those eyes than what Clint was used to seeing- and he was pretty sure he had only seen _that_ look on someone’s face before.

“Bucky,” Clint tried to say, coming out a little more than a whisper from air restriction. He reached up and touched his face, tried to push away his chin before the hand tightened. Clint’s eyes widened and he reached down, tapping Bucky’s arms, his thighs, anything and everything he could to get him fully out of his state of mind.

Clint reached up one more time and brushed one hand against the back of his head, near his ear before that look changed. It settled in on confusion for a moment before pure horror. His hand jerked away and Clint took as deep a breath as he could while his world spun a little.

“Shit.”

Bucky went to stand up and Clint grabbed ahold of his shirt, but Bucky was moving backwards so Clint was forced to sit up. He just needed a minute, something, _anything_ to keep himself a little steady as he forced himself to slow down his breathing. His hold tightened on Bucky’s shirt as the man froze; Clint leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Bucky’s chest and took a shaky breath.

“Ah fuck,” Clint muttered. “Don’t move. It’s- it’s okay.”

“I could have killed you! How the hell is this okay?” Bucky asked frantically.

“Nightmares. They happen. Just… just give me a minute.”

Clint was surprised when Bucky complied, not moving a muscle for a minute before his body became a little less tense. Clint wasn’t willing to move just yet.

“Lesson learned… no waking the assassin up from a nightmare,” Clint said with a sigh, finally letting go of Bucky’s shirt. The moment his shirt was free Bucky was up and away from Clint. “Don’t- don’t run. Please.”

“Are you insane?” Bucky hissed. “You should be-”

“Scared?” Clint asked, looking up. Bucky was by the door, inching his way a little closer to an escape. “It’s not like I wasn’t. Scared. I just- I don’t know, I’ve been through worse,” he offered as he tried to shake the pressure off his skin. Clint scooted back until his back was against the wall then leaned forward. “Look- I’m fine.”

Bucky didn’t look too sure about that but he didn’t make a move to leave. “It’s going to bruise.”

“Yeah, figured,” Clint murmured, touching his neck lightly. “Going to make people think we are into kinky shit if we go out in public.” He let his hands drop into his lap and he watched Bucky. “I get them too. Nightmares. I guess I should have known better than to wake you. But you looked so-” Clint couldn’t finish it as he looked away. It felt like a mess of emotions would rush out of him if he even tried to vocalize it. “Just don’t run, okay?”

“Why?”

Clint didn’t know how to describe it, not without sounding pathetic, like he couldn’t take care of himself. He just knew he did better with someone around to help keep him grounded. He knew he didn’t do well on his own, not for long anyway. And even if the current situation wasn’t ideal for him, in some ways it was comforting to have someone else nearby. But admitting to a man he didn’t really know that being alone was somehow worse than being choked out seemed pitiful at best.

Instead, Clint just shook his head. “Can you… can you undo these please?” he asked, nearly begged as he held his wrists out. “I just want to take a proper shower.”

He looked up when he heard Bucky walking closer. He knelt down and pulled a small set of keys out of his pocket, hesitated a moment before he took the handcuffs off. Clint looked at his blank face, his eyes the only thing that gave away how he was feeling- tormented. Clint waited a moment before he sat up more and wrapped his arms around Bucky, settling his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes. Bucky sighed before he slowly hugged Clint back, tightening his grip.

No, this wasn’t ideal. None of this even made sense- neither of them should be comfortable in the least. It was like balancing on the narrowest tightrope for the both of them, navigating whatever it was they were doing. But Bucky felt warm against Clint, he felt solid and real, and for the first time in Clint didn’t know how long, he felt oddly safe.

He could make this work.

Clint watched Bucky writing in a notebook. Or, rather, it was a journal, bound at the spine by something other than metal. It looked worn, the pages a bit yellowed and tattered. But Bucky was fixed on his task and Clint wasn’t going to ruin it. The shower he took was probably a hair too long, but soaking in the warm and humid air did wonders for him. So he watched Bucky from a distance before he noticed the oddity. He frowned a little and walked over to the window, the blinds pulled up just a little, enough for Clint to get a look of the outside world, and it was snowing.

“I noticed you liked keeping your eyes out.” The voice startled Clint and he looked back. “Sorry.” Bucky looked back down at his journal and twirled the pen in his hand a few times. “I just thought… it was snowing again and you might want to see it.”

“Yeah, it’s a little escape I guess,” Clint admitted before he sat down and put his chin on the sill, watching the snow drifting down. “I like being up high. I see better from a distance I guess.”

“What does that even mean?” Bucky asked, sounding amused.

“I think it was something I used to say as an excuse to tuck myself up high and away from people,” Clint admitted. He fiddled with the string on the sweatpants Bucky had let him borrow, keeping his fingers busy. “I was a marksman, but not with a gun. I was an archer. And I mean, I guess that makes sense- I can see better from a distance since that’s kinda distance shooting. No scope on a bow though. Or maybe there was… that memory is kinda foggy still. I know my one didn’t have a scope. Didn’t need one.”

“As in, like… bows and arrows, archery.”

“Paleolithic, I know,” Clint laughed before he turned around to study Bucky. He looked better, more at peace. He was half-smirking now, looking a little more than mischievous. It was a good look on him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Lies,” Clint laughed. Bucky shook his head and looked back down at what he had written, the smirk leaving without a trace. “What is that, anyway?”

“Any time I remember something I write it down,” Bucky answered. “Kind of like… a journey of figuring out this mess I was given.” He waved a hand a little about the side of his head as he talked, the pen twirling a little as he went. The way his hair fell over his eyes was driving Clint a little crazy. It couldn’t be comfortable.

“Can I try something?” Clint asked a little abruptly. Bucky frowned then shrugged his shoulders. “Just… you got a lot of hair and it’s in the way. Here.” Clint got up and walked over, climbing over the couch. He swung his legs on either side of Bucky and pulled him back. “Okay?”

“You are one weird guy,” Bucky muttered. “You’re fine.”

“Not anxious?” Clint asked. Bucky didn’t answer, just sat stiffly between Clint’s legs. “Come on. You good? I can move.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted. “You aren’t cutting it.”

“No. Give me that hair tie,” Clint instructed. Bucky complied. 

Clint took a deep breath before he started to detangle Bucky’s hair as gently as he could. After a few minutes Clint hummed tunelessly to himself as he went, pulling the man’s hair up as much as he could, watched the way Bucky’s neck stiffened when Clint’s fingers grazed over his skin, saw the goosebumps rise up involuntarily. Clint twisted his hair into a bun and tied it off before he reached around and tipped Bucky’s head back gently. He looked so soft from this angle and Clint had to swallow a bit to keep his mind in check, pulling the stray hairs to the side to tuck in.

“Uhm… there we go,” he said after a moment as Bucky kept his eyes on Clint. Bucky slowly tilted his head back down. “No pulling?”

“No, it’s… nice,” Bucky said, his voice strained.

“Too far?” Clint asked softly.

“No, it was fine. It was good,” Bucky replied, shifting a little.

Clint wordlessly climbed over Bucky and shuffled his way back to the window, the snow slowly increasing outside. He sat back down, leaning his body against the wall as he placed an arm on the sill, his chin resting on top.

“Clint?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

Clint ducked his head into his arm, hiding the smile that spread across his face. “Anytime,” he answered.

“You know I am going to handcuff you again, right?” Clint wrinkled his nose and looked over, not even trying to mask a groan. “No offense, of course. Just…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Clint replied before he looked back out. “Sucks… but I get it.”


	7. Chapter 7

“What are you doing?”

It had been a week since the nightmare incident and Clint was restless. He dug out Bucky’s hoodie and pulled it on. It was a long, hard week. There were mistakes made on both of their end as they tried to learn what the hell they were doing. There was more than one time that Clint either woke up with a knife to his throat, or somehow managed to sneak up on Bucky and almost get stabbed. 

Then there was the one time Clint got angry about Bucky’s outburst of energy and flung a knife, watching it zip by Bucky’s nose and embedding in the wall. Convincing Bucky he knew  _ exactly _ where he was aiming didn’t make it better, neither did offering to do it again but with Bucky on the move this time to really show off his skills. Clint was just hoping their neighbors didn’t know enough English to call the cops, but they hadn’t yet. By the same token, Clint had stayed well inside and away from the window- he earned himself a bruised jaw and hand prints on his shoulders from that stunt and he knew how that would look.

Of course, after his stunt he had to admit to Bucky that he was once an assassin, which didn’t go over well. Clint could understand the reaction at least- knowing Bucky was an assassin had made Clint seize up as well for a moment. It still sometimes left him a little shook, but if it wasn’t for the handcuffs, Clint wouldn’t have been as concerned.

Despite all the hiccups, Bucky never kicked Clint out; he hadn’t knocked him out and dumped Clint’s body god knows where. Despite all the nightmares, the moments either of them got lost into themselves, they still tried to fumble their way through this for one reason or another. Bucky even let Clint sleep without handcuffs on for the first time, which Clint took as a huge stride in the right direction. Clint could get more than a few hours of sleep at a time without panicking. He still couldn’t figure out why either of them was even giving this a chance- none of it made sense, but Clint wasn’t really complaining. It felt almost relieving to have someone around to watch his back, even if that same man was slightly terrifying still.

“Going out,” Clint answered.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Hey, calm down,” Clint said, taking a few steps back when Bucky got close. He held his hands up. “Look, I’m going to leave my hearing aids here. That way you know I am coming back.”

“The hell you are! How are you going to hear people coming at you? Gunshots?” Bucky asked. It was the first time in two days Clint watched him upset about something that Clint had done, and god if he didn’t look so concerned. “You can’t just-”

“I can work without them,” Clint answered automatically, something he knew must have came out of his mouth a few times before if pressed. “I don’t have anything else to make you realize I will be back. But I checked the kitchen. We need supplies. And these batteries are about to die in these hearing aids and I need new ones. And unless  _ you _ know what they take, which you probably don’t…” Clint tried not to feel self-conscious about the hearing aids, he had spent too many years insecure about it, but he was having an off day. “We need supplies and I blend in better than you do."

That didn’t seem to ease Bucky any, his face a little distraught by the idea. “You can’t go without hearing aids.” He said it so firmly that Clint was sure if he said no one more time there was going to be a fight. “I can go-”

“You are more likely to be spotted,” Clint argued. “Look, me going out is the smarter option here. The people at the market? They hadn’t recognized me at first. I know what I am doing. It’s been nearly two years since I escaped. You are newer, fresher. Let me handle this part.”

Bucky watched Clint as he zipped up the hoodie and pull the hood up. It felt strange wearing someone else’s hoodie but it smelled like Bucky, which shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. Clint gave him his best lazy smile as he stuffed his hands in the worn pockets.

“... fine.”

Clint’s smile brightened. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Two hours. Then I’m going to leave to look for you,” Bucky warned.

“I’ll be back well before that,” Clint replied. “Maybe I’ll pick up some cards or something, have something around for us to do.” As soon as the words were out of Clint’s mouth he frowned. Bucky tilted his head and frowned as well. “I… we should talk about that,” he added before he shuffled his feet and looked down. “About us sticking close.”

“Buy a pack of cards, Clint. We’ll talk about the rest tonight,” Bucky suggested. “Two hours.”

“Two hours,” Clint agreed.

Clint was cursing himself the whole way down the stairs. Of course Bucky wouldn’t want to go anywhere with Clint, not once they both found some solid footing. Clint knew his days with him were limited, and so far he was surprised they had lasted as long as they had. Whatever they had going couldn’t last for long, not with both of them on the run. And no matter how well Clint tended to blend in, at some point someone was going to recognize him again. And based off the tormented, haunted look in Bucky’s eyes whenever he was writing, whenever he woke up, Clint knew he wasn’t going to be able to stomach it if he brought Bucky down with him.

_ You don’t deserve to be with someone anyway _ kept replaying in his head, his mood dampening.  _ The last person you let close isn’t here anymore _ . He thought his limited time out of the apartment they were sharing was going to be a breath of fresh air, but it was anything but. He collected what food he could, buying mostly nonperishables that were easy to carry on the run; he picked up more shampoo, some hair holders, a new journal for Bucky, a few more pens, batteries, and a deck of cards. He was fooling himself if he thought they would use that deck more than once, more than just tonight. 

The way back was a little more agonizing that it should have been. Clint made sure to double back a few times, stopping at a bakery and a restaurant, trying to keep anyone off his tail if he could. It took almost as much time to feel secure that he hadn’t been followed as it had taken picking up what limited supplies he had. He climbed the flight of stairs before he tapped on the door to be let in.

Clint stumbled in when the door opened and Bucky grabbed the hoodie and yanked on him. Clint spun around just in time for Bucky to grab ahold of his shoulders and look him, top to bottom, easing the door closed with his foot.

“Uh- I’m fine?” Clint asked, confused by the behavior. “It was just a store run.”

Bucky relaxed and seemed to let go of the air he had been holding. He took the bags and looked in them before he frowned. “What… is this?”

“Protein bars and other non-perishables,” Clint answered. “Things we can keep packed up so we can-”

“This isn’t food.”

Clint looked at Bucky’s face and read the horrors of it. “How is this not food? I literally live on these things.” That only seemed to increase the horror on his face. “What?”

“No. I have to go shopping now. This isn’t food,” Bucky stressed.

“But, uhm, I read the backs of them and they seem like they are-”

“You eat like shit, Clint,” Bucky informed him, sounding snarkier by the moment.

“Oh… my God, you sound like Natasha,” Clint said in disbelief before the words could sink in. He tensed up and hung his head. “Oh shit. You sound like her.”

_ Just breathe. You know she isn’t here. Today is just a bad day. _ He ran his hands through his hair and tugged a little, reminding himself not to rip it out and tried to refocus. When he looked up Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes still on Clint, trying to get a read.

“You… okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m going to… I’m just going to go sit by the window.”

“I am going to go back out to the store and buy real food,” Bucky informed him, his voice tight now. “I’m taking the keys.” 

Clint nodded and watched him put a hoodie on, gloves to hide his hand, a ball cap. To Clint, he was never going to mask who he was, his features were burned in his memory now. He glanced at Clint one last time before he left, locking the door behind him. Clint waited before he checked back outside. When Bucky stepped out he paused and looked up before he walked down the street.

He hadn’t had that intense of a reaction to her memory in weeks and Clint couldn’t figure out why it had stung him so hard this time. He had convinced himself that he had somehow moved on a little, but clearly he was wrong. All he had said was that Bucky sounded like Natasha- that didn’t seem like anything major. His mind was moving a million miles a minute, trying to find something to relate that statement back, but Clint came up short handed.

_ See, you are ruining this already Barton and it hasn’t even been two weeks. You should leave now while he is gone, save him the trouble. Once he finds out what you did, he won’t want you around anyway. _ Clint had to force himself to sit still because it would have been easier to run now. But today was just going to be a bad day, and bad days happen- he was going to need to work through it one way or another. And he was tired of running.

Clint hadn’t heard when Bucky got back, he had removed his hearing aids not too long after Bucky had left to give himself a break. But he just noticed the lights were on, especially the one in the kitchen. Clint glanced back outside, the sun setting now, and wondered what the hell he should do. He knew he shouldn’t make any decisions today because he wasn’t in the head space to do them.

Fumbling with the blanket Bucky must have draped over him while he had zoned out, Clint got up and stretched before he headed for the kitchen, gently putting his hearing aids back in. “You are going to sit on the counter, aren’t you?” Bucky asked without looking back.

“Going to be mad if I do?” Clint watched as Bucky waved him off so he pulled himself up and let his feet dangle. “You made it back okay.”

“You were… in a zone, I didn’t want to push,” Bucky answered before he looked away from the book he had been reading. “You want to talk about it?”

Clint shook his head just shy of frantically. “Nope, I’m good. Just having a bad day. Any day I think about her is a bad day.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders and set the book down before he checked in the oven and closed it again. “I’m sorry.”

“I literally could have killed you the other day and you didn’t want me to make a big deal out of it,” Bucky reminded him. “I think I can handle a little tension over a name. It’s not like you were destructive.” Clint couldn’t argue that- he hadn’t done anything. He didn’t have the energy to do anything.

“So… whats for dinner Mister Too Good for Protein Bars?” Clint asked, his lips finally cracking into a smile.

Bucky huffed and turned around. “Noodles with butter and garlic and seasoned chicken. And green beans. I think.”

“You think?” Clint laughed. “They sure look like green beans to me from here.”

“Did you know bananas aren’t the same?” Bucky asked. Clint frowned and tilted his head. “Let me guess- you don’t eat those unless they come in the protein bar variety?”

“Oooh, you’re a douche,” Clint laughed. “No, it’s just… bananas are different? Different than what?”

Bucky seemed to freeze up and Clint waited, letting him work through it. He could do that much, as long as Bucky didn’t look pained. “How much do you know about Captain America?”

Clint shrugged his shoulders. “Not too much. I know… I read his comics growing up when I could get my hands on ‘em. I know he fought in World War II and died in a plane crash. And I know he didn’t really die, but was kinda frozen or something? I know he’s alive. They sent him after me.”

“They?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D., so I assume he works for them now?” Clint asked. “Why?”

“Did they ever mention a guy? A best friend?” Bucky asked.

Clint had to think about it. His memory on that wasn’t the best, shaky in most spots. “I think so? James Barnes. Or something like that? I wouldn’t trust my memory much more than you trust yours on that though.”

“I think I am him.”

The way he said it, how small and in awe it was, it made Clint lose his breath for a moment. Bucky wouldn’t look at him now, looking down at his book without reading it, a means of escape. Clint couldn’t figure out from what until it smacked him.

“Wait… wait wait wait,” Clint said, jumping down off the counter. “But you’d be, like… I don’t know. Ancient.” Bucky looked up and glared at the comment. “What? You would be! Or in cryo for that long or- oh shit, you are the Winter Soldier, aren’t you?” he asked.

Bucky flinched at the moniker and angled himself better and Clint could recognize the way he was squaring up for a fight. “What?” he hissed.

“She told me about him, the Winter Soldier,” Clint said, his voice weakening.

“Who is  _ she?” _ Bucky asked.

It was happening again. He could feel the world getting smaller, his breathing hitching, his heart rate spiking up. He reached and gripped the counter to find a way to keep him steady. It was something they didn’t want him to remember and Clint knew why. It all balanced on that memory, and it  _ hurt _ .

He jolted when he felt someone, felt  _ Bucky _ , pull him close. Clint waited to be stabbed, waited to be killed or drugged, or whatever would happen. He removed his hands and started pushing against Bucky, needing space, needing to get away.  _ They tricked me. They sent him- he’s just a babysitter until they feel like they can safely take me in. _

“Breathe.” Clint flinched and looked at the blue eyes he was beginning to get used to. “Clint, you need to breathe. You are freaking out.”

“You are with them, aren’t you? You are just babysitting me,” Clint accused, his hands still pushing against Bucky’s chest, trying to create space.

“I’m not with anyone, doll,” Bucky said, “not anymore. Calm down, we can talk.”

Calming down was always the hard part. Clint went quiet and watched as Bucky moved away to finish dinner, his hair falling out of the sloppy pony he had put it in. Clint’s fingers itched to fix it again, itched for something to do. Instead, he just watched, waited, unsure of what to say.  _ Today is not a good day but tomorrow can be better _ he kept reminding himself.

Clint was fairly certain he had hurt Bucky somehow when the words came spilling out, he could still see the tension in his back and shoulders. If he was the Winter Soldier, it only made sense with the assassin description before, and the use of the word  _ soldat _ . But it was hard to picture Bucky as someone other than who was standing there in the kitchen, all soft and unsure of himself, trying to make it by the best way he knew how. Trying to put those pieces together was giving Clint a headache so he forced it back- it was something that he hoped could wait just a little while longer.

“Hungry?”

Clint looked at Bucky, holding a plate out. With a weak smile, Clint climbed down from the counter and took the plate before heading to the couch. He waited a moment before he sat. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Bucky replied as he sat down and got comfortable.

Clint looked down at the food and he was pretty sure Bucky was just as anxious as he was at this point. Too many things had happened, and they had happened too fast. Neither of them really had time to process it, and judging by the tension, Bucky really didn’t want to process it all with Clint right there.

“Listen,” Clint said carefully. “Whoever you were… it doesn’t have to be who you are, right?” he asked, looking up at Bucky. “For both of our sake… we don’t have to let things define us, right?”

Bucky’s jaw set itself in stone and Clint was pretty sure he had made things worse for a moment. But then Bucky licked his lips and closed his eyes, resigning himself in some way before he looked over. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “I did too much to too many people for it not to define me in some way.”

“ _ They _ did that to people, they used you,” Clint said, trying to be firm. “Because if you… if you are at complete fault for it all, that would mean whatever I did is my fault too and I- I really don’t think I like the idea of that.”

Bucky looked down at his food. “We can figure it out some other time,” he said. “Let’s try to eat and maybe figure out a game we both know with that deck of cards.”

“About that-”

“Not tonight,” Bucky said. “Tomorrow. We’ve had a rough enough night. Let’s try to end it on a high note, alright?” He had a soft, gentle smile, a fake one at that, but it settled Clint a little more. He reached over and hit Clint’s shoulder lightly, his hand lingering for a moment before he stood up. “Come on. Let’s play a card game while we eat, punk.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clint agreed. “But only if I can fix your hair first.”

“Deal.”


	8. Chapter 8

The following days weren’t too much better. Between the two of them, there were several nightmares and distant looks. Three days of near quiet, next to no talking, as they both seemed to deal with their memories in their own ways. Bucky wrote a lot, and would typically stay in the back bedroom unless he was making lunch or dinner. Clint could hear the nightmares as they came on but knew better than to wake him up; however, that didn’t make sitting there listening to them any better, not when he knew what those dreams did to Bucky.

Meanwhile, Clint was remembering more little details than anything big picture. He remembered more of his childhood, more of his time before S.H.I.E.L.D., and then joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. He now knew that gentle male voice in his head was a man named Phil, someone he was very close with. He could even remember a little about Nick Fury now, enough to know where he stood with the guy. Maybe Rogers was right- maybe Fury didn’t want him dead or locked away, maybe he was just confused on how to handle the situation Clint had gotten himself in. Learning to read people was always a skill Clint had, but apparently he was relearning it because he never recognized the clues that were there on Fury’s face just before Clint ran from the States.

Clint wished the memories of her and whatever he had done would come back. Those memories were the ones that gave him anxiety, made him freeze up at the thought. He thought that if he could at least remember them, maybe he could process and deal with them. And if not… he would deal with that when the time came as well. 

It was on day four that Clint felt something heavy lift from his chest and he decided it was time for them to talk. He shuffled around the small apartment for a little, too nervous to actually go seek out Bucky. He had been quiet all morning so Clint wasn’t sure if he was sleeping or still in far off land. Top that with Clint wasn’t sure if he was even in the mood to talk, and Clint didn’t want to make anything worse than it already had been for them. The quiet was beginning to become too much, but he had to weigh what was more important.

Clint finally found the courage to at least go check in on Bucky after two hours, pushing the door open just enough so he could get a good look inside. He could see Bucky in a corner, his eyes fixed towards the window without being able to look out. His legs were sprawled out in front of him, his body slumped and relaxed; he at least appeared to be at peace for the moment.

Tapping on the door, Clint pushed it up and was met with a slight smile. Again, Clint couldn’t begin to relate how the man sitting in the corner was one of the most fearsome assassins of all time. As it was, Bucky didn’t even look haunted at the moment, his eyes were clear and his lips were pulling into a brighter smile than Clint had ever seen on him.

“Miss me?” Bucky asked, almost taunting him.

Clint felt his mouth go dry and he wasn’t sure how to reply for a moment as his eyes scanned the other man. “Uh-” was the only noise to come out, betraying Clint’s confusion. Bucky tilted his head and Clint walked over before he sat next to him, pulling his legs up instead of stretching them out. “You look… good. Happy. Something… good, finally?”

“Y’know, Captain America wasn’t always so… big?” Bucky asked. Clint faintly was aware of that fact, but sat quietly next to Bucky. “He would run around, actin’ like some big tough guy, getting involved in fights with guys that would clock him while loudly proclaiming he could ‘do this all day’ even while having a busted lip. I had to save his sorry ass more times than I can count, all because he had this sense of duty to stand up for people. Not that it’s a bad thing but, his personality was bigger than life and-”

Clint semi-focused on Bucky as he talked about the things he had remembered, but mostly he watched him. Watched for facial cues, the way his eyes lit up about a few of the stories, the smirk that would form whenever he called Captain America a punk. It was a side of Bucky Clint hadn’t seen yet, the excitement and sheer amount of happiness. He wasn’t sure how long this mood was going to last, likely until the next nightmare sent him back to remembering just who he had become in his mind, but Clint was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

They hadn’t really shared anything about themselves, not their memories. Just quick snippets here and there. But Bucky felt like talking, getting it all out. Clint slumped peacefully at the noise, he hadn’t realized how much the quiet of the previous three days had worn him down. He felt Bucky scoot closer, propping Clint up a little with his shoulder. It almost felt like he had done it a million times over with someone else, like it was comfortable and familiar, and he guessed by Bucky’s lack of a reaction, he had done it as well.

“Clint?” Clint looked up, confused. _Maybe I dozed off a little too much._ Bucky had less of a confident grin on his face, but it had settled into something more self-assured at the moment, something more gentle. “I just talked your head off. You alright there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Clint replied. “It was… kinda nice I guess?” he answered. “Three days of quiet, and I don’t care for quiet. I remember things being quiet when I was a kid, before the hearing aids, and I guess I just- it makes me uncomfortable at times. So talking… talking is good.”

“You could have said something,” Bucky told him, almost scolding him.

“We were both stuck,” Clint answered with a shrug. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You got anything you want to talk about?” Bucky asked. Clint wrinkled his nose a little at the thought. “Come on- give me something to work with. I just went on about a guy neither of us really remember.”

“Alright,” Clint said slowly, carefully, trying to think. “So… apparently I was in the circus.” Bucky’s eyebrows lifted. “No, serious,” Clint said with a smile. “It’s where I learned how to shoot, learned I was good at it. I remember sneaking in at night and goofing off. I remember doing trapeze acts I had watched the artists do and flipping in the air, landing on the net, but feeling like I was flying just before I landed. I also remember being strictly told I wasn’t allowed to do that and getting my ass beat whenever I got caught.”

“Is that how… uh…” Bucky said before he pointed to Clint’s ear.

Clint shook his head. “I’m sure it didn’t help but no. This all started with my dad.” Clint almost flinched away from the look that filled Bucky’s eyes. He had went from looking at peace to murderous in three seconds flat, just as the words left Clint’s lips. “Hey, long time ago. And he’s dead so- yay,” Clint added on with fake excitement. The look diminished a hair, but Clint could still see the hate back there. “I had a shit childhood, Bucky. A lot of weird, not so good memories I guess.”

“Minus the flying in the air bit,” Bucky said, his eyes finally not looking so angry. “And shooting.”

“Archery is the best,” Clint said with a half smile. “I know it’s something I used to do to blow steam. Anytime I was upset I would go to the range and shoot. Phil… some guy I kinda remember from S.H.I.E.L.D. he used to try to talk me into finding a different way to cope with pent up anger. But I guess shooting grounded me the best.”

“You miss it.”

“Yeah, I miss it,” Clint agreed. “The day we ran into each other was the first time I picked up a bow in over two years. And it was the happiest time of my life that I could remember. It was familiar and grounding and…”

Clint felt his heart stop when Bucky picked up Clint’s hand and inspected it. Clint knew how rough they were, the callouses and scarring from the string. They were hands that worked a lot, had been through a lot and sometimes ached because of it. Part of him knew they weren’t exactly pretty hands, sometimes he hated the roughness, but the way Bucky was turning it over, inspecting every patch of imperfection with care- it made any negative feelings Clint had about them go away.

“I know you said once how we shouldn’t be together,” Bucky said softly. “But this is… working so far, isn’t it?” he asked. He looked back up, a flood of emotions there that Clint hadn’t expected. “I know you were right but…”

“I hate being alone,” Clint blurted out, jarring Bucky a little. Clint cleared his throat, trying to reel the conversation back, although he was excited by Bucky’s statement. “We need a plan in case this goes down hill. In case someone finds us and we have to split up. Like… somewhere to meet up. How long we give the other person before we realize that maybe-” He didn’t want to say it, couldn’t really say it. 

In all likelihood, Clint knew at some point this could turn into a disaster. He knew getting close to someone had it’s dangers, especially two people on the run. But he felt like they deserved this- deserved at least the illusion of happiness in whatever form they could get. And Clint figured they were both happy just knowing they weren’t alone for a change.

“So where do we meet that’s safe?” Bucky asked. “Where can we have a chance at blending back in?”

Clint didn’t know the answer to that question. He knew all the places he shouldn’t go, all the places to avoid, but settling on a place to meet up wasn’t an easy task. “Somewhere they wouldn’t expect either of us to go,” Clint answered. “So where would that be for you?” Bucky frowned, clearly trying to come up with an answer that he wasn’t sure about. “Assuming we stay Europe… I like my chances to the north better, but it’s getting there.”

“I think moving away from Europe would be a smarter move,” Bucky said, letting Clint’s hand drop. Clint tried not to reach back for his hand, or play with his own while it was still warm. “Maybe head down towards Turkey.”

“Meet in Bulgaria then?” Clint asked. “I don’t know that country.”

“We’ll grab a map, make a plan,” Bucky said. “Tomorrow.” Clint pulled a face- he would have much rathered tidied up the plans at the moment, worried about them falling apart. Bucky, however, smirked. “Scared you are going to miss me?” Clint could make out the smallest leak in the facade Bucky had put up, but he wasn’t going to comment on it.

“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” Clint laughed before he rubbed his face. “I have to shave.”

“Hate the stubble?” Bucky asked. “I kinda like it.”

“You would, you got stubble for days,” Clint muttered before he stood up and stretched.

“Hey.” Clint paused and looked back. “You said circus and trapeze artists. You do any of those circus tricks?” Bucky asked.

Clint had to think about it. “I… yes?” he replied. “I mean, I am kinda flexible. Well, really flexible.” Bucky waited it out. “Hell no, I’m not doing it right now.” Bucky scowled a little before he pouted and Clint wished he could take a picture. “What? I haven’t stretched in days. I’d probably throw my back out or something. I’m not that young anymore.”

“Then I am going to go ahead and assume you can’t,” Bucky said, getting to his feet and wedging himself past Clint to exit the room.

Clint felt his jaw drop before he laughed and followed him. “Sounds like a challenge now. I like a good challenge.”

“I’m sure you do,” Bucky said, heading to the kitchen. “What’s for lunch? And if you say a protein bar I am going to set the rest of them on fire. We’ve had them and fruit for three days. I’m over it.” Clint watched Bucky lean down and peer into the fridge.

“I can always run out and grab us food to go,” Clint offered.

“Nah,” Bucky replied, closing the fridge. “I am going to make a food run.” He walked back out and grabbed his hoodie first, pulling it on. “Want anything special?” Clint shook his head and watched as Bucky pulled a jacket on, then a hat. “Alright then… I guess I’ll be back with… whatever looks good. Lock the door.”

“Awww, look at you, worried about me,” Clint teased.

Bucky stared at him a little too long, making Clint shift his weight. “Yeah, let’s call it that,” Bucky replied with a soft smile. “Lock the door, Clint.” He walked out and closed it behind him. Clint took a deep breath and locked the door before leaning against it. 

“What… did you do?” Clint asked.

“Nothing,” Bucky answered innocently as he sat the bags down. “Just… took me awhile to find some things.”

He had been gone longer than Clint expected and for the briefest moment, Clint wondered if everything had fallen through on them so quickly. He had even packed bags, everything he could, and he wasn’t looking forward to explaining that thought process to Bucky when he would eventually ask. Despite Clint’s panic, Bucky had came back, carrying more bags than Clint had expected him to while looking a bit mischievous. 

“Okay, but what is all this?” Clint asked. “It can’t all be food. We don’t… we don’t save up like that.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Bucky agreed before he tossed two bags over to Clint. “You lost your clothing- and I kinda want to wear my own clothes again. So…” Clint blinked and looked in the bag. “I guessed the sizes. The shirts were easy. The pants though… they should be long enough.”

“They look comfy,” Clint commented. “I’ll try them on. If they are wrong, I’ll head out.”

Bucky nodded. He hesitated over a bag, looking at it a little too long before he looked over at Clint. “Don’t freak out.”

“Why the hell would you say that? That _makes_ me want to freak out,” Clint whined playfully, dropping the clothing bags and walking over. “What?”

“You said how you hate how quiet it is,” Bucky said before he pulled out a box. Clint took it and tried not to freak out by it. It was a radio, a small one, probably didn’t get too loud, which was perfect, and was easy to transport. It was perfect. “Figured… why the hell not.”

“You bought me a radio,” Clint whispered. _Don’t freak out about it- he said not to freak out._ But how was he supposed to not freak out when it was the nicest thing someone had ever gotten him that he could remember.

“If you don’t speak Romanian it’s going to suck, but-”

“No, it’s perfect,” Clint insisted. He grinned and turned, hugging Bucky tightly. He felt Bucky tense at first before he relaxed into it and laughed. “I don’t speak a lick of Romanian but I bet we can find something. I’ve heard German spoken out here a handful of times, maybe we can find a German station. I know German.”

“Why do you know German?” Bucky asked, taking the rest of the bags to the kitchen with him after he shrugged Clint off.

“Guess I thought it could come in handy,” Clint answered, unboxing the radio and finding a plug in the kitchen and turning it on, scanning. “And it did come in handy a few times.”

“Like when?” Bucky asked.

Clint had to think about it. “So… one time I was on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission in Germany,” Clint explained. “And, uh- let’s just say I kinda crash landed in an apartment filled with two grandmothers and they only spoke German and… they were cute.”

“They were cute?” Bucky asked with a laugh.

“Shut up, old people are adorable,” Clint replied.

“You made that up,” Bucky accused.

Clint grinned sheepishly. “Caught me. I can’t actually remember it being useful. But I know I know some words. I’ve used it since New York.”

“What happened in New York?”

“Biggest mystery of all time,” Clint admitted before he found a station that they could get in, loud and clear. “So… I think this is-”

“Russian, turn it.”

“Yes sir,” Clint replied, scanning again. “I think I know some Russian too. She taught me it.”

“Who is she again?” Bucky asked.

“Her name was Natasha,” Clint answered. “Whatever happened in New York, she is attached to that memory. I… I kinda think I killed her. Because if I hadn’t killed her, she would be here.” Bucky looked back at him, and Clint could see him assessing Clint. “I’m fine. I think I’m kind of getting used to the thought that I killed her? It hurts, it sometimes makes me tense, but I’m working on it.” He settled on another station and looked at Bucky.

Bucky waited a moment before he continued unpacking the food. “Romanian. It’s fine.” He turned around and leaned against the counter. “You made mention about knives…”

Clint scrunched his face. “As I said, they experimented. It wasn’t something they normally did. And I guess I was fragile or something. And the memory must have set me off. I don’t really have many answers to that question.”

“So it could happen again.”

There was a hint of concern there than made Clint’s stomach flip. The tone of his voice reached his eyes and Bucky crossed his arms. Clint couldn’t begin to tell him how he would react when that memory finally came back. He guessed in the past that it was violent, that the only reason they wiped him was because he was a danger to himself, to others. Clint wanted to reassure him, but that would be lying.

“I suppose it could,” Clint admitted. “I think the longer I have to remember things, the better able I am to cope,” he admitted. “And it’s different this time around.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t have someone lying to my face,” Clint answered. Bucky looked surprised by the admission. “I told you, I don’t like being alone. I don’t like feeling like I only have myself and no one else. I’m kind of, hell, I don’t know how to explain it,” Clint said, pulling himself up onto the counter, ignoring Bucky’s slight scowl at the action. “I guess I like someone telling me that I’m doing the right thing, that I’m not a bad person. I think it’s from working- like, questioning if I was actually doing the right things? I don’t know, man.” Wording it that way sounded better than his mind screaming at him _because I have you_.

“That is something I can work with,” Bucky admitted. “So, I bought things to make pizza tonight.”

“I love pizza,” Clint exclaimed excitedly. Bucky laughed and shook his head, looking down. “Y’know, maybe you can teach me a card game from when you played them? I mean, if you remember any. If you think you are James Barnes, Cap’ America’s best friend, then you played games about in, like, the thirties or something. They had to be different back then than they are now.”

“I'm sure we can think of something,” Bucky agreed. “You aren’t like the punk, are you? Do you cheat?”

“Only always,” Clint admitted.

“Oh, what a treat,” Bucky replied dryly, though he was still smiling. “Tonight is going to be an adventure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that when I first started this story I had plans for a lot more action, a lot more scenes of them running from different characters. Now, I literally have boiled it down to them being soft boys and just living. It won't last but I'm down for every minute of it before things will (likely) go to hell for them again.  
> Thanks for continuing to read! Hope you enjoy! =)


	9. Chapter 9

Clint was surprised when they made it through three weeks without any run-ins. Clint tried to be the one who went out more often because he could blend in much easier than Bucky. And Bucky gave him a detailed list of groceries they would need so that he could avoid the protein bar fiasco again. November was fading away and December brought even more snow than before, which meant Clint tried to stock up more ingredients so their runs out of the apartment they were sharing were less.

They fell into an easy rhythm now that they seemed to understand each other more. Their sleep schedule was a disaster still, but Clint figured that would take a long time to resolve. Clint took to making tea for Bucky when he heard the nightmares taking over so that it would be ready to comfort him when he woke; sometimes Clint would sit silently, other times he would talk to Bucky about obscure facts just to take his mind off of them. Bucky was starting to figure out just how long Clint could stand being in silence before he started to get ‘twitchy’, and would be there the moment Clint woke up from a nightmare to touch his arm before he would pull Clint close and ran his hand through his hair to comfort him.

Bucky taught Clint how to cook properly, and Clint taught Bucky how to bake desserts. Bucky would laugh when Clint danced around the kitchen, making up English words to the Romanian music they heard on a daily basis, and then would talk about how much dancing has changed from when he learned how to do it. At night, when Bucky really craved the quiet it seemed, he would write in his journal while Clint played with his hair, sometimes braiding it, other times just detangling the knots. And every day the blinds would be left open just enough for Clint to be able to gaze outside, get his bearings again and ease into his day.

It was fast approaching their first month together when Clint was focused on decorating the cupcakes he had made. It wasn’t like they needed to be perfect- Clint and Bucky were the only ones who were going to eat them, but Clint liked to keep his hands busy and this was non-destructive. 

He saw a glint of metal by his face and sighed, not pulling away from his work as Bucky reached out and snatched some frosting off the top of a cupcake.  _ Neanderthal _ Clint thought with a smile as he just went back to redo the frosting on top. Before Bucky could snatch anymore, Clint whacked him with the piping bag and listened to the surprised yelp followed by a laugh.

“Hands off, Barnes,” Clint scolded playfully.

“Come on, it tastes good and you are taking ages,” Bucky argued. “And the frosting is perfect.”

“Perfection takes time,” Clint argued. He looked at the radio when a song came on and smiled. “I swear, every time I hear this song it just keeps getting better. I don’t even know the words- they could be saying something about dumb blonds, and I would die for this song.”

“You would die for this song?” Bucky asked.

“It’s… never mind, too new of lingo, we’ll go over it later, shush, I like it,” Clint said.

“Want to dance?” Bucky asked after a few seconds of silence.

“It’s a slow song, Barnes. What am I supposed to do? Hug myself and sway to the beat?” Clint laughed.

“I meant with me, you idiot,” Bucky replied.

Clint turned around, surprised. Bucky looked a little nervous, his face a little red, but he held eye contact and wasn’t backing down. Clint set the piping bag down and grabbed the dishrag and wiped his hands. This was new, different.

“You want to… dance with me?” Clint asked.

“As long as you don’t step on my toes,” Bucky replied. Clint was still processing what Bucky had said and he could see Bucky shy away. “Nevermind, it was-”

“No take backs,” Clint said. He reached out and grabbed Bucky’s hand. Bucky looked down before he looked back up and Clint wasn’t sure how to read the look behind his eyes. Instead of overthinking, Clint stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I- uh, I don’t really… I haven’t danced with someone in a long time,” he admitted.

“Bet I haven’t done it in longer,” Bucky said softly, dropping Clint’s hand as his went to rest on Clint’s hips. “I doubt swaying has really changed that much though.”

“Yeah, probably right,” Clint said, feeling a little breathless. 

It took him a moment to relax into the motion, wrapping both of his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, his hands rubbing the back of his shoulders, feeling the difference. Clint felt Bucky’s shoulders tense and he froze his fingers from traveling anymore than they had.

“Isn’t… the tall one the one who holds the waist?” Bucky asked.

“... I have no idea, you tell me,” Clint answered, smiling a little. “Switch?”

Bucky nodded and they switched. It wasn’t that Bucky was short, he was probably average height, but he was still a good five inches shorter than Clint, but he hadn’t expected how much thicker Bucky was through the waist and hips. Looking at him, Clint knew it, but he hadn’t really know just how different it felt compared to himself.

“Better?” Clint asked.

“I think so,” Bucky replied, looking a little dazed. 

Clint wasn’t sure if he was going to space out on him, or if Clint needed to move him somewhere that was a little more roomie in case Bucky needed to move away quickly. This was more physical contact than what either of them did, at least outside of when they needed to comfort the other after a nightmare, and those times they didn’t really speak about it afterwards, it was more automatic. This was oddly different and warm and Clint lost track of where the song even was.

Clint noticed something new in Bucky’s eyes, but he didn’t have the words to describe it. He looked almost unsure and hesitant, but determined. Clint looked down from his eyes to his mouth and back before he felt Bucky step up and Clint leaned down. Bucky’s lips trembled the moment they touched Clint’s and his hands moved to pull him down closer. What started out as something timid turned a little more desperate, and Clint let Bucky control the pace. He felt Bucky’s grip tighten a little on the painful side when he pushed them back, Clint’s back resting against the back of the fridge and he gasped. Bucky stopped for just a minute to check on Clint, who only pulled him back in.

The light feeling in Clint’s head slammed back down to reality when Bucky’s hands caught his wrists and pulled them off before he took a step back. Clint stood in his spot and watched as Bucky seemed to be processing something; he was back to looking unsure, a bit on the horrified side, which didn’t leave Clint with a good feeling on how this was going to go. It wasn’t until Bucky started looking a little far away that Clint got concerned.

“Bucky?” he asked carefully. “Hey- you kinda wanna talk about it, or maybe loosen your grip there, or maybe-” he rambled. When Clint tried to move his arms, Bucky’s grip tightened and forced him to stay put. That problem turned into a feeling of panic on Clint’s end because if this somehow  _ did _ turn bad, he had his back against the fridge. “Buck, hey, snap out of it.”

Bucky’s eyes looked up and he let go of Clint slowly. “I can’t- I’m sorry,” he said softly. Clint watched him take a sharp breath in and shudder, his shoulders pulling up.

“Is it alright to touch you or-”

“No.”

Clint hadn’t seen him move so fast in such a long time. But Bucky had turned and nearly ran out of the room and closed the bedroom door. Clint looked around the kitchen before he eased himself away from his spot, turning and resting his hands on the counter before he leaned down. He knew the panic had set in but he hadn’t realized just how much his chest hurt from it. 

He took a deep breath and looked at the unfinished cupcakes. He slowly started working again in an attempt to calm his mind so he could think about what had happened.  _ What made him do that? _ Clint asked himself, but he wasn’t sure which part he was more curious about- Bucky initiating the kiss or the stoppage afterwards. The last four cupcakes looked like shit, his hands were trembling too much to make them look anywhere close to go.

Clint turned the radio off and cleaned the kitchen before he sat by the window. It wasn’t snowing anymore, which was a shame to be honest. He wouldn’t have minded the ability to count snowflakes at the moment. He rubbed at the calluses of his hands- he really wanted to shoot at the moment, but he wasn’t sure if leaving was a good option. Bucky might need him, might need to talk after he processed whatever had happened. Clint should be there for when the inevitable happened even if he wanted out in the worst way.

He let Bucky have his space for a few hours before he decided he had to do something. The quiet was soaking into his skin, leaving it to itch and buzz with anxiety. Clint went back to the kitchen and started to cook. He didn’t really know what to do without Bucky there to coach him, they didn’t own a cookbook, so he was hoping he wasn’t screwing anything up as he went. He carefully cut the vegetables Bucky had him buy, cooked the rice, which was a lot harder than what Bucky made it seem. And when he was done, he carefully put everything on two plates and headed for the bedroom.

“Bucky, can I come in?” Clint asked gently. He waited a few beats, listened to the silence. “I cooked dinner. It actually looks edible.” There was still no answer and he sighed. 

He knew what he should do- he should give Bucky the space he needed. Bucky enjoyed the quiet, needed it to process, but this was something that affected them both, and Clint wanted to clear the air. So instead he sat down just outside of the room, his back against the door.

“I don’t know what happened, what is going on in your head right now, but we can work through it,” Clint said. “I’m not… offended if it was a spur of the moment thing, something you don’t want to do again- or- I mean, I don’t know what-“

Clint let himself fall backwards when the door opened. He blinked and looked up at an eerily calm Bucky. He squatted down, hovering over Clint before he reached down and touched his jaw lightly. The problem was, there was this blankness behind his eyes, making it impossible for Clint to decide what Bucky was feeling. Clint leaned into the touch and took a deep breath.

It took a moment before Bucky seemingly relaxed, kneeling down. He leaned over Clint and grabbed a plate of food before he brought it back. Clint didn’t move, watching Bucky as he took a bite and chew. His face began to flush before he turned his head, and plate, to the side and spit out the food.

“What…. how did you accomplish this?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

“What? It looked good!” Clint protested. He sat up and grabbed his plate. He shoved a large portion into his mouth and chewed for a few seconds before he spit it out. “What is wrong with the cheese sauce?” Clint whined.

Bucky was laughing at this point and Clint tried not to glare at him. “No wonder you eat protein bars, Barton. Your cooking skills are remarkably poor. First, you over seasoned literally everything. Then this cheese- I don’t know how you accomplished that.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Bucky looked happy, Clint would be snarky. But Bucky had laugh lines, crinkles around his eyes, and it was a look Clint only saw one other time on the man. It warmed him up enough not to care about the mocking over his cooking skills.

“Are… we okay?” Clint asked. He knew it would ruin the moment but he needed the assurance.

Bucky’s broad smile dropped to something more subtle. “We’re fine.” He looked down at the food. “It’s too dangerous. We can’t just… we can’t do that.”

“Alright, we won’t,” Clint agreed.

“Even if we want to.”

Clint caught his eyes and saw the same unsure but determined look as before, but it was leaning more toward defiant now. Clint tilted his head. “It’s… up to you?” Clint answered. “I’m not saying we should jump in bed and seal the deal or something but-“

“No.”

“Alright. Solid,” Clint replied. “So… you going to cook us something edible?”

“No, you are,” Bucky said, getting to his feet before he collected the plates. “I’ll help but you are doing the work.”

“Right, thanks,” Clint grumbled. He got up and headed to the kitchen.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Clint would still catch Bucky watching him a little too closely, looking away quickly when Clint caught him in the act. He mostly kept his hands in his pockets but Clint could make how his fingers would flair before they would clench again. But he patiently walked Clint through trying to make the same meal he had attempted the first time through. They ate and cleaned the dishes in tandem, the radio barely audible to Clint, but it was enough to ease off the tension.

“Will you detangle my hair before I shower?” Bucky asked as they walked out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, that I can do,” Clint answered cheerfully. “Go sit, I need to stretch a minute.”

Bucky nodded and sat down on the couch and waited, opening his journal to read through his notes. Clint stretched, trying to keep himself calm. He was partially worried that touching Bucky again, even if it was something they did often, would send the man fleeing again. Clint climbed over the back of the couch, settling in with Bucky between his legs again. Bucky leaned back once Clint was settled and was completely relaxed. Clint worked, humming that song he liked so much from the radio. If it bothered Bucky any, he didn’t say, though Clint could swear he heard Bucky hum a part quietly.

“So you aren’t going to argue?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Argue about what?” Bucky tilted his head back and stared at Clint.  _ Oh… right.  _ “Look, you said no. Boundaries are important, healthy. I respect that. You decide you want to change them later, then we change them.” Clint finished and ran his hands through Bucky’s hair. “Look at that- all done,” he said. Part of him wanted to lean over and kiss his forehead, the top of his head, something to let Bucky know they were okay.

“Thank you,” Bucky muttered, standing up slowly. “You should take the bed, by the way. You’re so… tall.”

“Oh, you just now realizing I’m taller than you?” Clint teased. “I like the couch. So we’re good. Go.” He tilted his head towards the shower.

Bucky nodded and passed Clint, standing behind him for a moment before he patted his shoulder lightly before carrying on. Clint turned his head to watch Bucky pass, shuffling into the bathroom before closing the door. Clint slipped down to lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling. The day was weird, a little off kilter, but Clint was pretty sure they made some sort of break through, he just wasn’t sure what.


	10. Chapter 10

_ His chest felt like it was on fire as it constricted painfully, trying to control his erratic breathing as he looked at his bloodied hands. When he tried to take a breath it came as a gasp and it burned. He squeezed his eyes shut and his hands formed fists, tight enough he was sure his nails were going to embed themselves into his palms. _

_ “Look at all the destruction you have done.” Clint refused to look up, keeping his eyes trained down. “You were made to do this, my little hawk. You were made to be a weapon, used for whatever purpose they deemed acceptable, molded to bend to their will. You have always been a pawn in someone else’s game, playing along like a good little soldier.” _

_ He felt sluggish, still half hazy from whatever magic was holding his captive. He saw the boots in front of him, the edges of a long coat. He closed his eyes and swallowed back his emotions, desperate to keep them in check. If he could just play this right, stay clear of the scepter, make the man think he was still under control, maybe he had a chance. He could break free, he could go back to S.H.I.E.L.D., tell them what limited intel he knew. He had been trained for things like this- or close to. Maybe not magic and monsters, but to- _

_ “Look up.” Clint tried not to flinch as he forced himself to open his eyes and look up, focusing on the man in front of him. “I want you to look around at the chaos you caused.” Clint felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and he knew he didn’t want to do that. He was fairly certain what was around them, what he had been forced to do, and he couldn’t meet their cold eyes as they stared back at him. “Look!” the man demanded. _

_ Clint got to his feet and tried to take the man out, but he was gone in an instant. He stumbled forward and turned just in time for something sharp to pierce into his chest, everything going cold. _

_ “Kill me,” Clint whispered, grabbing onto the staff just above Loki’s hand, trying to keep himself in the moment. _

_ “Oh, I will, eventually,” the man said, stepping closer, dragging the scepter down, slicing through Clint’s skin. Clint gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. “Or maybe I won’t. You will be a hero, for helping change the world for the better. You can stay by my side-” _

_ “No.” _

_ “I do not think you have much say in the matter.” Clint’s head was lifted by a cold hand and he stared at him as the edges began to become fuzzy. “I am going to need you to do one more thing. In the great battle- I need you to kill her.” _

He felt cold and damp the moment he woke up. The feeling sank into his skin for a moment before he was on his feet, tearing at his shirt to get it off of him. He stumbled his way to the bathroom, feeling like he was unable to breathe. His hand hit the wall several times before he found the light, flicking it on and leaning in. They were blue- they were his blue, no one else’s. He gripped the sink and ducked his head, forcing air into his lungs.

_ I did it- I killed her. He made me- _ Clint pushed away from the sink and stumbled, tripping and falling backwards. His arm jerked up painfully before he was forced onto his feet again, his chest hitting something solid. Clint rolled to the side, twisting the arm that was holding him and forcing the person back against the wall.

_ All the blood- all of it was because of me. I did that. I let it happen.  _ Clint squeezed his eyes shut.  _ Can’t breathe- I can’t do this.  _ He looked down and his eyes locked on someone else’s- dark blue, not that blue. Not  _ the _ blue. Clint watched his lips move and he pushed against the arm, trying to dislocate it.  _ I have to go- I need to get away. I have to run. _

Clint gasped when the person turned the move around on him and shoved him back, his hips painfully digging into the sink. Clint slid his foot out just enough to force the other person’s legs awkwardly apart and took them both down to the ground level, scrambling to stay on top while trying to move to the open area.

_ This is what you get- you deserve the struggle for everything you did, for every person you killed.  _ Clint couldn’t get the words to stop, the voice in his head becoming more menacing. It wasn’t until his head smacked against the corner of a wall that Clint shouted out in pain before metal pressed firmly against his mouth, turning his head to keep him still. Clint bucked his hips up but the person was sitting firmly in place, unmovable.

Something dripped onto his arm and he managed to get enough of an angle to see the splatter of blood. He tried to slide out from under the man that had him pinned in place, needing distance, needing to stop feeling contact. He twisted and turned with everything in him but he was losing steam fast.

_ Just like before, you are powerless to do anything. You are weak- only human.  _ Clint held onto his breath for as long as he could, squeezing his eyes shut. He thought maybe if he could manage to knock himself out he could remember it all, remember what happened next.  _ You killed her and there was nothing you could do. You were just a pawn in someone else’s game. _

He wasn’t expecting a hand to gently, soothingly, push his hair back. Clint took another breath, this time the sob finally escaping as a muffled whimper. He felt cold all over again, though his skin only felt sticky from sweat. He needed to focus now because he wasn’t sure where he was, who he was with, and that someone was playing with his goddamn hair in the most soothing way. So he looked up through the tears and tried to focus. Blue eyes, but they were darker, non-threatening. Longer brown hair, stubbly beard, and lips that were moving, asking him  _ something _ but Clint wasn’t sure what. He knew this person, not well but well enough.

_ Safe- I am safe _ Clint told himself as he tried to let his mind play catch up. He wasn’t sure how long they had stayed there on the ground, or when the metal was removed from his mouth. Clint just focused on trying to breathe again, trying to put the pieces back together in a way that didn’t leave him feeling as hollow as he felt in that moment.

Clint watched as Bucky, for the fifth time in an hour, came into the bedroom, acting like he was going to get something. Clint tracked him as he moved awkwardly in the space, trying not to make eye contact it seemed. As if Clint didn’t know when he was being babysat, watched, checked in on- you name it.

“You don’t have to keep tiptoeing around me, I said I was fine,” Clint sighed.

“I’m not.” Bucky stopped as soon as Clint cut him a glare. “You are just… you  _ were _ so… upset. And now you are just eerily calm. I don’t like it, it makes me nervous.”

“You would rather I be upset?” Clint asked, quirking his eyebrows up.

“That’s not what I am meaning to say,” Bucky groaned, rubbing his face. He sat down, just out of Clint’s reach, and that was fair. Even if Bucky didn’t have the bruises anymore, he had a few when Clint had calmed down. But that was over a day ago now. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, Clint. You won’t talk about it-”

“You got that right,” Clint agreed.

“-and you are just sitting there. And you never just sit around, not unless you are forced to,” Bucky finished. “I just want to make sure that I don’t need to stay worried, that’s all.”

“And coming in here every ten minutes ensures that? You are clockwork, Bucky. I can time you down to the second.” Bucky squinted his eyes at Clint, clearly not pleased with that response. “I’m not going to freak out again, I’m not going to hurt you, myself, whatever. I’m  _ fine _ .”

“Then talk about it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll talk about it as soon as you talk about all the bad shit you’ve done under mind control,” Clint grumbled. “It’s a great trip down memory lane.” Bucky stared at him and Clint realized the fatal flaw. “... dammit.”

“Your big bad was-”

“No, stop,” Clint groaned, rubbing his face. Bucky snatched his wrists. “I’m not clawing my face, Barnes. Knock it off.” Bucky held onto him and Clint looked over. It was unspoken but Clint knew what he was wondering. “Ugh, fine,” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “It’s not all there yet, not every single piece, but a lot of it is.” When Bucky didn’t say anything, didn’t move an inch, Clint wrinkled his nose.

“Alright. Apparently I was supposed to watch some people work on a foreign object, alien. And yes, aliens are real. Anyway- while testing this object this guy came in and started a fight. I tried to do my job and he touched me with this… scepter or something. Hell if I know. And all of a sudden I can see things but I can’t react. It was like taking a backseat joy ride in my own body. Sometimes I would fade in and out but I was there.” Bucky shifted his weight, inching a little closer. Clint wanted to pull away, shake Bucky off of him, but he decided against it.

“I… I got it off once. I don’t know how,” Clint said before he looked down. “And I asked him to kill me. But he told me I had to kill her. And since I am pretty sure I did that-”

Bucky dropped Clint’s wrists in favor of hugging him, pulling him in between his legs. Clint blinked a few times, fighting back tears as they formed, and set his hands on Bucky’s lower back. After a few seconds he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the hug, wrapping his arms around the other man.

“That had to be terrifying,” Bucky said finally to break the growing quiet. “But she might not be dead. If you don’t remember killing-”

“She’s dead.”

“But you-”

“I had a dream a few nights ago, before the… bad dream,” Clint admitted. “In it, they sent her in to see me, but it wasn’t her. I knew it wasn’t. So I asked her the only thing we both know that know one else knows about. I asked her about Budapest.”

“Budapest?” Bucky asked. “What-”

“It’s kind of the point that only we know, Barnes,” Clint said harshly. He felt Bucky pull away and Clint sighed. “Sorry. I just-” Clint sat back. “We decided there were things that only we could know about. I guess as spies we found it important and it was. When  _ not _ Natasha couldn’t answer the question, I ripped her arm off.”

“You  _ what _ ?”

“It was a life model decoy, a robot,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “They look just like the person and all. But it’s obviously not them. And they are hard to spot but hell- I wasn’t one of the best for no damn reason.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” Bucky asked carefully.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not really enjoying this heart to heart,” Clint explained. “It’s nothing against you. I just don’t do this. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through so-”

“Don't compare your trauma to mine,” Bucky said sternly.

“God, now you sound like that therapist I very rarely went to,” Clint scoffed.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re a punk.”

“A hungry punk,” Clint hinted, reaching out and poking Bucky’s stomach. Bucky smacked his hand away. “Hungry, hungry punk. As in I want food. What are you fixing us?”

Clint waited for Bucky to protest. He could see all the unanswered questions in his eyes, all the skeptical looks, but Clint was emotionally run down and not in the mood. He needed an out, and food seemed to be the easiest way. He had refused to eat up until this point, he still wasn’t exactly hungry, but it was a lie he could live with.

Bucky stood up and held a hand down. Clint took it and helped pull himself up. Without much talking, the two left the bedroom. Bucky prepared the food, shooting a calculated look at Clint whenever he tried to step foot in the kitchen; Clint figured it was due to the knives, and he wasn’t going to disagree with that. Instead, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around himself tightly, breathing in Bucky’s scent and letting it drown out all the negative thoughts. That voice was still there, still carrying on, but it was becoming harder to hear as Clint watched Bucky work.

With full stomachs and the dishes washed, again without any help from Clint, Bucky ushered Clint back into the bedroom. Normally Clint would have put up a fuss by now on how he prefers the couch, which he really didn’t, but Bucky seemed insistent on certain things. So Clint collapsed down onto the mattress and yawned. He took one hearing aid out, gently setting it to the side before he felt the mattress behind him sink, causing him to stop.

“This alright?” Bucky asked.

“You… don’t have to,” Clint said slowly.

“I know, doll.”

Clint hesitated a moment longer before he took the other hearing aid out. He laid back and turned his head, looking over at Bucky. He looked exhausted as he rubbed his face. Clint could make out a new little scar on his hand and he felt his stomach clench.  _ Great, I probably did that too _ he thought, angry at himself.

Bucky looked over with a sleepy smile. He was saying something lazily, and Clint was too focused on his eyes to catch the words that were coming out. Clint slowly reaches up and tapped his ear, gently reminding Bucky of his situation, and Bucky scrunched his nose. He exaggerated the words “I’m sorry” with a small smile. He gave a small wave before he slipped into his side, facing away from Clint. And Clint- Clint waited it out for as long as he could so he could watch the way Bucky was breathing.


	11. Chapter 11

It took several days for Clint’s mood to turn around. There was a lot of quiet, a lot of longing looks from Bucky that he didn’t know what to do with. Anytime Clint would make a move to do anything Bucky would watch him like a hawk, and while Clint thought it was sweet that he was obviously concerned, it was beginning to rub him the wrong way. Admittedly, he had made the mistake that caused all this attention, but he thought he deserved some peace.

So when Clint finally spoke directly to Bucky in a tone that was more chipper than he had used in days, the other man flinched and stared at him like he had finally lost his mind. “What?” Bucky asked.

“I said we should meet up in Verona,” Clint replied, taking a seat next to Bucky on the couch. “If something were to happen and we had to be forced apart, we should meet back up in Verona.”

“Italy?”

“Is… there another Verona?”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his mouth as he tried to puzzle out what was happening. “Okay but why Verona?” Bucky asked.

“Well, starters, I think I might have a safehouse there?” Bucky rose his eyebrow questioningly. “So, before I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I was an assassin, remember?” he asked. “And the one thing I learned was that you wanted a safehouse in case things turned to shit. After joining S.H.I.E.L.D. I carefully picked locations I could… stash away my shit. I picked a few places across the globe. One was in America, but S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about that place, it was on their record. But there are two they don’t know of. One is in Verona and one is in Uruguay. And there is only one other person who knows about those two safehouses but she is dead.”

Bucky shifted on the couch, tucking a leg under his as he watched Clint. “Natasha.”

“Natasha,” Clint agreed. There was still an uneasiness there- anytime he thought of her he felt like he was losing control all over again. After weeks of not reacting to her memories, those overwhelming feelings were back and worse all over again. “We were close, we would have done anything for each other. I couldn’t keep secrets from her.”

“She was your… girlfriend?” Bucky asked.

“Oh… oh God, no,” Clint replied, laughing. “Being friends was more important. Anyway, she likes men that aren’t this level of stupid,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “No. We were just… we were us. In a world where you are a spy, an assassin, you don’t really have friends. And she was the only one I could trust to watch my back, and she trusted I would watch hers. It was kinda like this.”

Clint was surprised when the words came out. He had never really considered just how close he was letting Bucky, how comfortable he felt around him. But it was true- just like Natasha, being around Bucky made him feel safe, like he could breathe and not have to be alert at all times. Clint wondered exactly when that happened. 

Judging by Bucky’s reaction, he was just as surprised by it as Clint was. “Did you just compare me to her?” he asked carefully.

“I guess I kinda did?” Clint answered. Bucky didn’t look any less surprised and Clint was beginning to feel nervous. He looked down at his pants then pulled his legs up, folding them before he rubbed at a muscle that was aching. “You’ve put up with my shit and you haven’t bitched about it. How does that not… how does that not at least make us friends, right? And when we first met, you had all the reasons in the world to let those assholes take me in, kill me even, and you pulled me out. And we’ve been trying ever since. So… I guess I mean-”

“You are making this really hard,” Bucky said, his voice straining.

“I’m pretty good at that, but what exactly am I making hard?” Clint asked, looking up.

Bucky shifted and moved in close, hesitating again as he watched Clint. Clint watched Bucky’s eyes flicker down before back up, read all the signs, but he was still, unable to move. He tried telling himself that the last time this happened Bucky firmly said no, created that limit and Clint should respect it. He  _ wanted _ to respect it. But he looked so… perfect.

Clint closed the gap and kissed Bucky, just for the briefest moment, too afraid to let it linger in case the other man got mad. But the moment Clint leaned himself back was the moment that Bucky surged forward to find his lips again. Clint unfolded his legs just as Bucky was pushing him back against the couch. Just as before, Clint went with whatever it was Bucky wanted, going with the flow as gently as he could. It wasn’t until Bucky slid a hand under Clint’s shirt that he reacted with what he wanted to do. He arched into the touch for a moment before he turned his head.

“Are you sure this is-”

“Don’t. Don’t ruin it,” Bucky warned him. “Unless you don’t think we should-”

Clint wasn’t going to give him time to think on it. He pulled back into the kiss, keeping his hands on his neck, his shoulders, anywhere to keep him close. And Bucky’s hands were tentatively exploring, moving slowly, carefully. Clint would kill for him to pick to pick it up a notch, but didn’t dare suggest it.

Bucky sat back. He looked conflicted all over again before he looked away. Clint frowned and sat up, reaching out and tapping his fist against Bucky’s shoulder. “Tell me about it?” he asked. “Something is bothering you and-”

“I think you should leave.” Clint felt all the happiness drain from him in an instant as he stared at Bucky. “If you were smart, you wouldn’t stay. Neither of us would.”

“Okay, so maybe I am confused here,” Clint said slowly. “You were just kissing me and now you want me to leave.”

“I don’t  _ want _ you to,” Bucky said as if that clarified anything.

“Uh huh.”

Bucky got up and walked to the window, rubbing his face. “They are never going to stop coming after me, Clint. And you weren’t even on their radar until you stepped in.”

“You can’t know-” Clint began to protest.

“You weren’t on their radar,” Bucky growled and Clint flinched. “I remember their words sometimes. I didn’t connect you to him until a few days ago. They knew- this whole time they knew you were on the run, didn’t know anything, and while they would have loved to bring you in, they weren’t actively going after you because with a limited memory you were-” Bucky didn’t appear to want to continue the sentence.

“I was useless to them. Thanks,” Clint finished dryly. “So?”

“So now if they connect us then they are going to go after you to get to me, don’t you get that?” Bucky asked, sounding desperate.

“And you think me leaving means they won’t?” Clint asked. “Okay, Bucky, that’s kind of stupid, you know that, right?”

“At least it gives you a chance,” Bucky argued. “It gives you a chance to get some distance. If they catch us together they will- Clint, they will hurt you.”

Clint got to his feet and walked over, pressing forward despite Bucky backing down. “No. Okay, you don’t get to do this.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“Technically yes. But that’s not-” Clint was having trouble figuring out exactly what he wanted to say. He rubbed his hand, ran his fingers down his face, applying enough pressure to keep him sharp. “You are scared, I can understand that. But if you know me through them, then you have to know that I’m capable of taking care of myself. It’s not like I’m some princess or something. I am a trained fighter. And S.H.I.E.L.D. has-”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.” Clint took a half step back. “At least I am sure they are going to fall if they haven’t yet. HYDRA infiltrated it a long time ago. They had spies on the inside. And S.H.I.E.L.D. never knew it.” Clint was getting a familiar, dreadful feeling inside his stomach, swirling dangerous to make him sick. “They used S.H.I.E.L.D. Hell, they could have used-”

“Don’t.”

“-you.”

Clint shoved Bucky with everything he had in him. “I said don’t,” he shouted.

“You want to know the truth, right?” Bucky asked angrily. “Every last bit of it?” Clint knew he was trapped and he tightened his fists. “I have your flash drive.”

Clint closed his eyes and hung his hand, his hands finding the back of his neck and applying pressure again. “What?” he asked quietly.

“It was on you when I snatched you from HYDRA, when we ran. I have it.”

“You better be lying to me,” Clint hissed before he looked at Bucky. The man was still, a blank expression on his face. “You had it… this whole time?” Clint tried to keep the hurt out of his voice. He didn’t get a response from Bucky, not even a shift in his gaze. “What are you doing?” Clint asked. “You are just trying to push me away and-”

“I didn’t want to give it to you because I didn’t believe only your intel was on it.” Clint turned around and started to pace. “You said it yourself, more than a month ago. This isn’t ideal.”

“That was before this,” Clint said, waving his hands around. “This was before the nightmare, before the radio, the kiss- it was before everything that made this work.” He felt like his emotions were going to overflow at any moment. “I thought this was working for us. I trusted-”

Clint couldn’t say it. The sick feeling was rising. This was happening too soon, too fast, and he couldn’t figure out exactly why. Bucky was intentionally hurting him, intentionally saying things, hiding things. He had thought there was some level of trust there- maybe not exactly like it was with Natasha but close, closer than he had with anyone else. He felt like he had let Bucky in only to be cut back off.

“You shouldn’t trust an assassin,” Bucky said calmly.

Clint nearly choked on a sob, the words nearly reflecting the words Natasha had told him years prior.  _ Trusting another assassin isn’t a good idea _ . He could still hear her voice say it to him. He reached up and rubbed his face, startled to find it wet.

“You just know all the right buttons to press, don’t you?” Clint asked with a light laugh, trying to calm down. “So that’s it. You want me gone.”

“No.”

“Make up your fucking mind, Barnes!” Clint shouted. “You either want me here or you don’t. You can’t have it both ways.” Clint turned and watched Bucky. When the other man didn’t make a move, looked stunned, Clint held a hand out. “I want that flashdrive.”

Bucky swallowed back something, Clint didn’t care what it was at the moment. He gave a small nod and walked to the bedroom. He came out and held up the familiar white drive before he settled it into Clint’s hand.

“When were you going to tell me?” Clint asked, feeling his voice crack while fully ignoring it.

“I don’t know.”

Clint laughed and looked at the ceiling. “Yeah, alright.” He walked to the door and grabbed his shoes. “I am going for a walk. If I come back and the door is locked, then I guess I know what your final answer is. You give it a long, hard thought, Bucky. Because if you lock that door- you’ll never find me again.” Clint grabbed a jacket and pulled it on before his hands hesitated over a purple hat. Bucky had picked it out after finding out purple was Clint’s favorite color. He skipped the hat and looked at Bucky, unmoved, before he left.

Clint wandered the city aimlessly, not having a destination in mind. His hand turned the flash drive over in his hand in his pocket, too afraid to let it go. Despite all that, despite knowing he could finally read his files, his mind was on Bucky, on their fight. It came out of left field, just like the last time Bucky stormed off after the initial kiss. Clint just wanted to know what had happened. He needed to know what HYDRA did to him to make him so afraid of staying attached to someone, and the only things Clint could think of threatened to make him sick all over again.

He wasn’t even sure if he should go back. If he disappeared now, it could save a lot of heartache. Clint wasn’t one to give up so easily, but he was tired, and different than he was before New York. He didn’t have that confidence level anymore, that feeling of self-assurance was long gone; anytime he thought he had gained an ounce back, a memory would shred it apart, leaving Clint bare all over again. Let alone, if he were to go back, Bucky would find everything out about Clint. He would find out about the mind control, the missions he completed while being able to say which he had done under false pretenses. He would find out more about Natasha, how Clint managed to take down one of the most famous assassins in the world. And all that information, Bucky could use it against him.

Clint rubbed his face and pushed back his hair before lacing his fingers behind his neck. This was a mess and Clint wasn’t sure how to react to it. He knew he should run- it was the logical choice. But he couldn’t help feeling like Bucky was doing all of this just to keep them both safe, even if that meant separately. He had gone about it in the wrong way, but he was trying in the best way he could. But he couldn’t even make that decision for himself, conflicted in what he wanted. And if Clint wasn’t worth fighting for, then what did he need to stick around for?

Clint picked up dessert in a convenience store, holding the bag steady to his side. He considered eating both portions in the park, just to sit down and take some alone time. The space would do them both good anyway- sharing a one bedroom apartment was challenging. But every time he thought of those challenges, he thought about the better times. The singing in the kitchen, the smiles, the stories. He thought about how gently Bucky handled him after his last memory surfacing, how Clint would wake up with an arm slung around Bucky, soaking in all his warmth. They had made things work, they fought for them to work in their own ways, and that should have been enough.

But to Bucky it hadn’t been enough to erase the anxiety. Clint wondered how long he had been suffering in silence, how many of the little glances were him struggling with being torn apart. Clint thought those times were small memories coming back to Bucky, little moments he wrote in his journal; Clint never considered the possibility that it was some inner struggle.

Clint walked up the stairs of the apartment and waited in the hallway, staring at the door. He was too afraid of the answer Bucky had chosen, his hand trembling too much to even reach out for the handle. He placed his hand on the door instead and took a steady breath in.

He dropped his hand right before the door opened. Clint looked at Bucky, looked at his tear stained face and Clint took a shaky breath in. He hesitated before he surged forward, dropping the bag of desserts in favor of hugging Bucky as tightly as he could. Instantly. Bucky’s arms snapped around Clint and he buried his face into Clint’s chest and sobbed. Clint left them still for a moment, riding the emotions, before he forced Bucky to take three steps back. He closed the door and reached back, locking it.

“We will find a way,” Clint promised him softly, whispering in his ear as he hung his head. “We’ve made it this far, Bucky. We can make this work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Clint tightened his hold around Bucky and for once wished he was the smaller of the two so he could have Bucky envelop himself around Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a bit about Bucky's head space. In the end, while I think he probably would consider that being gay in the past meant you'd get your ass firmly handed to you (or worse), his present is winning out a little more. As much as he loves everything about Clint, he doesn't want him getting tangled up in his mess. This is especially true after Clint's last episode (last chapter) and he saw how vulnerable Clint could be. So yes, he was trying to keep things more casual because he is afraid what would happen if he lets himself relax into feeling safe with all this. I hope that makes sense.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Only a few more to go. =)


	12. Chapter 12

“I know you're awake,” Bucky murmured, a hand gently touching Clint’s arm, his fingers trailing up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps where they left.

“Nhhh- too early.”

“You put your hearing aids in, sunshine.”

“Still too early,” Clint mumbled, flopping around in the bed until he could sink down and nuzzled his way against Bucky’s chest. “Let a man sleep.”

“Not with hearing aids in, you’re not,” Bucky said sternly. Clint groaned and fought harder to cement the cuddling deal, resisting opening his eyes. If he couldn’t see Bucky, it wasn’t time to wake up yet.

It had been just over two months since the argument and things really couldn’t have been going better. It took a week for Bucky to come back out of his shell, but once he did, things were progressing slowly towards their new normal, and it was a better normal. Clint coaxed him into sharing a bed again, stressing it was because Bucky was a furnace and Clint was always cold- he didn’t have to know Clint enjoyed the closeness it gave him. There were little touches, little reminders, just to keep them together, on the same page. Clint hadn’t realized how much he needed those little gestures for self-assurance, something he had been lacking prior.

For two weeks they made more plans than what Clint could remember. So many contingency plans in case things went to shit. Where they needed to meet up, how long to give the other person to get there before they moved on, and plans on where and how often they would have to move until they could settle again. There were more arguments than ever over some of the most basic things that Clint  _ knew _ were necessary, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. The biggest argument was what would happen if HYDRA recaptured Bucky somehow- and how Clint was supposed to kill him. It was something that triggered his memories, the thought of having to take someone down that he knew, and it came with more tension. In the end, Clint promised he would do his best, because that’s all he had to offer- and that seemed to be enough for Bucky.

And then there was the talking. Clint still wasn’t good at it- emotions were messy to deal with and awkward at best. But Bucky enjoyed sharing, in his own strange ways, and Clint knew at some point he was going to have to open up as well. Clint still avoided talking about the events starting with the blue haze and after as much as possible, but he did talk. Bucky, however, talked about everything it seemed. His theory that he killed JFK, about killing Howard Stark and his wife, and other random events. He talked about every detail he could remember and Clint couldn’t figure out what he had done to earn this level of trust.

Clint slowly got Bucky out of the apartment for longer than buying groceries. He found out they were in Bucharest and decisively told Bucky they needed to explore just a little. The one thing Clint wasn’t expecting was Bucky’s love for museums, which was something Clint wasn’t a fan of. But Bucky looked so in awe by the art that Clint couldn’t complain. They made it a goal to go out once a week to do something touristy.

Then there were moments like this. These were the mornings where even Bucky couldn’t pull himself out of bed, opting to cuddle against Clint. Clint wasn’t sure what made Bucky have these mornings, but they were happening more often and Clint wasn’t going to complain. Instead, he was going to try to keep Bucky there as long as he could.

“Where is this one from?” Bucky asked, his fingers pausing just above Clint’s right collarbone. Clint barely opened his eyes and looked down.

It was a weird way for Bucky to get him to talk, but Clint normally would. His body was littered with scars, some bigger and nastier than others. There were a few Clint couldn’t remember much about, and there were a few that Clint didn’t want to talk about. Clint knew in a way it was a test, a way to gauge Clint’s involvement for the day, how his mind was clicking. On the bad days where Clint would only respond with “you don’t want to know”, or with silence, Bucky would turn the radio on low and stick close, the light touches more prominent than ever. On the days Clint shared more, Bucky knew it was going to be a good day. It was a weird way to gauge emotions, but somehow it worked.

“Mhhh- that was Iowa,” Clint admitted. Bucky rose an eyebrow, though his eyes had turned colder. “Not my father. Someone else,” Clint said and Bucky seemed to relax.

“What about… this one?” Bucky asked, tracing another scar, just over Clint’s shoulder.

“That would be thanks to Natasha. When we first met and she tried to kill me,” Clint said. “Lucky me, she only ruined my shoulder for several horrible weeks.”

“I haven’t heard that story yet,” Bucky commented with a frown.

Clint snorted lightly and reached a hand out, pushing Bucky’s hair back. “It’s not really that interesting. I was sent to kill her, and I made a different call. She was only, like, eighteen. I was twenty-two. I don’t kill kids. She got a good hit in then I charmed my way into her heart.”

“... you slept with her, didn’t you?”

Clint laughed and shoved him lightly. “That is definitely not something you’re ever going to find out about.” Bucky was silent for a moment too long. “... alright, fine. Maybe three times. But  _ after _ she joined S.H.I.E.L.D.. Well, except for the first time. It’s a really long story.”

“So you both  _ were _ dating!”

“No, I mean- technically yes for a short bit. It was just- Casual sex,” Clint replied defensively, though he was smiling. He sat up and stretched. “Natasha didn’t date. I suck at relationships. It was nothing serious. Just two assassins who had pent up energy and no one else to help us along. That’s all.”

“Romantic.”

“I told you, I suck at relationships,” Clint laughed, turning slightly to look down at Bucky.

“This one,” Bucky said, tapping one on his lower left hip towards the back.

“Mhhh- I think that one was from somewhere in Ukraine,” Clint answered. “No, wait. Seattle. That was a battle I had with a coffee machine.”

“A coffee machine and it somehow caught your hip?”

“I’m a natural disaster.”

Bucky sat up and scooted, his thighs landing on either side of Clint’s hips as he wrapped his arms around Clint. “This one?” Bucky asked before he kissed the back of Clint’s neck.

“Too close to the ears for comfort,” Clint muttered and Bucky quickly backed off. “Thanks. And that one was Natasha again but an accident. It happened when we had a drinking contest in Honduras and were stuck inside due to torrential rains. We played a knife game from the Red-” Clint stopped. “Sorry. Off limits.”

“It’s fine. Red Room,” Bucky muttered. “You can  _ say _ it. I just don’t want to talk about it.” Just like Natasha, Bucky had a limit when it came to talking about his time there, his time with Natasha there, and Clint respected that. “... going to tell me about this one yet?” His finger tapped the longer scar on Clint’s chest.

Clint froze for a moment, holding his breath. He knew Bucky did it on purpose and schooled his breathing quickly. “From the mind control time,” he answered vaguely. He rolled his head back and looked at Bucky. “Stop?”

“Stop,” Bucky agreed. “Better though. You got through it.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to talk about scars so much,” Clint admitted, still feeling a little tense.

“Got you to talk about that a little more,” Bucky hinted. “No freak out, no panic. Though you are tense…”

Clint nodded and looked away, settling back against Bucky. “Not sure that’s ever going to change,” he explained. He looked at the clock radio Bucky bought them before he smiled. “Look at that. It’s officially wake up time.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Bucky said dryly.

“Exactly- and that’s  _ early _ so you’re welcome,” Clint laughed.

“You are only excited because it’s one of your work days,” Bucky grumbled.

Clint insisted on getting a job. They needed the cash, or at least Clint was sure they did, and he hated being pent up in the apartment all day. So when he was at the range to shoot, the manager said someone had quit and wondered if Clint could work part time. Clint  _ should _ have asked Bucky first, avoided that argument, but shooting was his element and he couldn’t say no. Most of the time he was repairing arrows, which was both the most stress-relieving activity in the world while still being difficult. But sometimes someone would come in, shoot, and ask for pointers. It was basically Clint’s dream come true.

“Oh, is it? I forgot,” Clint said, turning and kissing Bucky, looping his arms around him. Bucky laughed against his lips and shoved at him playfully. “And what are you doing today?” Clint asked, prying himself away and up to grab a change of clothes.

“Grocery shopping.”

“I can do it on my way-”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky insisted. “I need to get out as well. I am starting to feel stir crazy. Anyway, you suck at picking out fruit, and I think plums are in season… maybe. I just want a plum.”

“Not a banana?” Clint teased and avoided a sock thrown at him.

“You know how I feel about modern bananas.”

“That I do,” Clint agreed. “Alright, well, have fun I suppose,” Clint said, putting his socks on and looking down at Bucky. Unlike Clint, who Bucky played a game with to gauge his emotions, Clint could typically read them straight from Bucky’s face. He was relaxed today, his eyes clear, and had a bit of a smile. Today was one of his good days. “Wear the red one- you look damn fine in the red one.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Mhhh, your favorite idiot,” Clint teased. “I will see you when I get home, then. Don’t have too much fun, alright?”

“You’re going to be late.”

“Such a sourpuss,” Clint said before he left the bedroom, stuffing his feet into his shoes. He was going to have to buy some new ones eventually, especially with the way Clint abused them, but for now they were still in working condition.

Clint walked towards his destination, trying to keep his face towards the sun as much as he could. It was finally warm again, at least by Clint’s standards, and the clouds had started slowly giving away to the open skies. Clint was a fan of spring, after having to deal with the dreariness of winter, it was a welcome change. There were more people out for daily strolls now, which meant there were more dogs to see, and Clint was disappointed he was running late because there was one that  _ whined _ at him and Clint just wanted to pet it.

“Buna Florin!” Clint greeted as soon as he got inside the range, shrugging his coat off.

“Sounds better,” the man said that had opened the range. He rambled something off in Romanian and Clint looked up with a wince. “You will get there.”

“Suppose so,” Clint said. “I think I will keep to sign language,” he teased as he tossed his coat down.

Clint got to work the moment he could. He swept the floors and started to fix the arrows that needed some work. He smiled and waved to the normal customers that came in each day, checking them in. It was a standard day for the most part. For one hour he got to work with a group of five children on shooting, which was their afterschool program they had chosen. It was all smiles and gentle touches, moving bodies to proper stances. It was his favorite time of the day because they knew just enough English to make his job easier, and they were just as eager to learn as he was to teach it. If there was ever a time Clint could show off his skills, it was around the children because they were in awe with pretty much anything he could do.

It was towards the end of Clint’s shift when he was carrying a stack of arrows towards the back when the front door opened.  _ Shit _ . Clint wasn’t sure what triggered that response, it wasn’t like he knew the man, but something set his nerves on edge as soon as he walked in, a woman following behind him. Clint ducked his head and briskly headed for the back, letting his manager take care of those two. He couldn’t remove the tension from his body and he grabbed his coat. He was supposed to work for another hour, but he couldn’t stay. He dodged out the back door and put space between himself and the people that had entered.

Once he got towards the more populated streets, people were talking and pointing at the televisions. Clint frowned and paused in front of the television before his eyes widened and he ran.  _ No, no no no, _ he thought as he jumped and shoved his way past people. But before he could even get close to his shared apartment there were emergency vehicles everywhere, forcing him to stop back a distance. He turned down a street and found a back stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time. He popped out at the roof and ran to the end.

His entire apartment was surrounded, a mess of police and rescue crewmen. From this vantage point he couldn’t see too terribly much, but all the same he knew what had happened. Someone had found them, or found  _ him _ . Clint turned and ran back down the stairs, his mind racing. If it was police activity, then it couldn’t have been HYDRA that found Bucky, which was a vast improvement over the alternative. Then again, if HYDRA had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. like Bucky had stated, then chances were they could have infiltrated the local government as well. They were  _ everywhere _ .

Clint took a deep breath and tried to remember what he was supposed to do. There was no Bucky at the moment, which meant they were supposed to go to the meeting location, which was in Budapest. The thought of having to actually go there made Clint’s skin itch from a flood of memories associated with that place, with Natasha. But it was the halfway point, and a large city to blend into. He just needed to hop a bus and get there.

Clint rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks, the two people from the archery range heading down towards him. The man raised a hand and Clint felt his stomach sink as he tried desperately to remember him, coming up short.

“It’s going to be okay,” the man said slowly. “We just need to talk.”

“I really don’t think we do,” Clint replied, trying to keep his voice even, dry,  _ bored _ , anything but anxious.

“We know you are probably confused still, and we can help with that,” the woman said. There was a tinge of familiarity there, like he should know who she was. “But in order for that to happen, you have to come with us, Clint.”

“And… you are?” Clint asked.

“Bobbi,” she answered. It rung a bell and Clint’s eyes widened a bit. He definitely knew her, or at least knew enough about her to know that he did not really want to stick around with her. She was safe, but she was S.H.I.E.L.D., and that came with a certain level of distrust. “There is a dangerous man who-”

“Bucky isn’t dangerous,” Clint said firmly.

“Agent Barton, you may not know-”

“Oh, no, I know,” Clint interrupted, reminding himself to keep his hands soft, not to clench them like he wanted to. “I know who he is. I know what his favorite food is, that he hates bananas with a passion. I know his favorite song from before the war, before he was taken by HYDRA. I know who everyone thinks he is and I know how  _ wrong _ they are. Because Bucky isn’t that person, he doesn’t want to be that person. He’s better than that.”

“Clint,” the woman named Bobbi said, inching forward.

“I really wouldn’t,” Clint said, taking a step back. “I wouldn’t follow me. Because I may be rusty, and I may not want to fight, but we both know I will. And even on my worst day, I can say with about seventy percent certainty I can make it past you two.”

“We don’t want a fight,” the man with her said and Clint noticed his hand twitch, lower just enough for Clint’s hairs to stand up.

“Maybe not, but it always ends there, right?” Clint asked with a sad laugh. “I’m going to walk now. Please don’t reach for a weapon and just let me go.”

“I’m sorry, Clint.”

That was the only warning he got. Bobbi was quick, but she wasn’t a dirty fighter usually- or at least she hadn’t been. The man with her however was a wild card. The problem was, it wasn’t like Clint could use the woman as a human shield- she knew about a dozen ways to break those holds while breaking some part of his body. So instead it was a lot of movement, a lot of twisting and throwing and rolling, and all the things Clint was no longer up to speed on. He was slower, less precise, and that was becoming a problem.

He jerked his head to the side when he heard a bang and looked back.  _ He’s got a fucking tranq-like gun _ he thought. It was smaller, looked almost like the gun Natasha had used to knock someone out.  _ Night night gun _ . He hated those things, but hell if they weren’t handy.  _ And that alters the plan a little. _ Clint purposely had to lose some more now, move around and get closer, slowly. One good knock back and Clint rolled with it and smirked, barreling right into the man and grabbing the gun in the state of confusion. A sick feeling returned the moment the gun was in his hands and he resisted the urge to drop it and throw it away from him.  _ Not a real gun, won’t hurt him. It’s okay, calm down. _

“Clint!” Bobbi snapped angrily when he shot the man first.

“What? He is just taking a nap,” Clint said. Her eyes narrowed and she shifted just enough before she was on the move. Clint let her get too close before he shot her too, catching her as she fell. “You make a really awful brunette,” he muttered as he dragged her closer to the man. 

He slowly pocketed the gun, hating how he couldn’t properly secure it before he checked pockets, taking what cash they had on them. He stood up and left down the opposite way they had come from, just to be sure. He climbed on top of a garbage can, scaling the fence between him and what he hoped was safe, and bounced down to the other side. He shoved his hands into his pockets after he pulled his hood up and made his way through Bucharest.

With a passport in hand, and a one way ticket to Budapest, Clint sat by himself on the bus and looked out the window. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing, worrying about Bucky; his nerves were so shot eating wasn’t going to be an option. So he closed his eyes and listened to the hum of the running vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So- I have the rest of the story written so I'll probably be sitting here itching to post it all and finish (despite telling myself no lol). Only a few more chapters to go! Wooooo!


	13. Chapter 13

_ “So what happened in Budapest?” _

_ Clint looked up from his lunch, sitting in the middle of the S.H.I.E.L.D. lunchroom. A group of guys were standing around him, hovering with cocky smiles on their faces. Normally it was just STRIKE members that talked to Clint anymore, which was fine except the fact he didn’t like, or really trust, a single one of them. For that matter, Natasha didn’t either. _

_ “Classified.” _

_ Clint didn’t know how it happened, but someone had leaked that Clint and Natasha had gone on a mission to Budapest. And while all the mission details were firmly closed for anyone that wasn’t Fury or Hill, it seemed like everyone was talking about it. If the agents were young enough, Clint put on his best resting bitch face he could while he growled out a “classified” and that normally sent them running. Higher up agents, though, that knew him better weren’t as easy to shake. Clint had heard the rumors of what people thought happened, most of them made him laugh, but Natasha was very firmly pissed. _

_ The leader of the STRIKE division sat down and leaned in closer to Clint. He supposed he was supposed to take that as a threatening move, but Clint didn’t particularly care. In a fight of four to one, all STRIKE members, his odds of not getting his ass kicked were low, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t manage. _

_ “Which is weird, you know?” the man said. “I know all of STRIKE’s movements but not that this one. Fury had it locked and sealed.” _

_ “Then I guess I don’t have to tell you that if he has it locked and sealed that I am not allowed to talk about it, even with you,” Clint answered casually. “Perhaps if you have a problem with it you should take it to Hill or Fury.” _

_ “Come on, Barton,” the man said, reaching a hand over, brushing it against Clint’s arm. Clint looked down at his hand then back up. “Why the secret keeping?” _

_ Clint slowly withdrew his arm. “Get bent, Rumlow,” he said as evenly as he could. He stood up, his chair stopping because Rollins was standing directly behind him. “You want to know? Ask Natasha. I am sure she’d love to give you an introduction to Budapest.” _

_ Brock stood up and crossed his arms. “Do we have to worry about where your loyalties lay?” he asked. _

_ As much as Clint didn’t trust Rumlow or Rollins, all of STRIKE seemed to have the same level of distrust for Natasha. They had made it very clear, along with other key positions in S.H.I.E.L.D., that they disagreed with Clint and Fury’s decision on Natasha’s future at S.H.I.E.L.D.. It didn’t matter how much effort she put in, how much good she had done, they were still on her case about her past. _

_ Clint took a side step away from his table and picked up his tray. “Depends on how you spin it I guess. As amazing as this conversation has been, I think I am going to sneak out of it now. I have to meet up with Natasha to plan some super double agent spy shit so we can take over the world. Don’t tell anyone though. Our little secret.” _

_ “You think you're funny.” _

_ “I think I’m about five seconds away from jabbing this tray into your windpipe,” Clint replied with as sweet of a smile as he could muster. “But sadly, those dreams will only stay in my head.” Clint walked backwards away from them. “This has been really fun. Let’s schedule this again for… never.” _

_ If they said anything else to him, Clint wasn’t paying attention. He was focused on getting his heart rate down. Fuckin’ Rumlow. _

Clint looked up at the ceiling, counting to ten, and when his breathing didn’t seem to settle, he counted to ten again. Ever since Budapest, he had more little details coming back to him. He still had a gap, but the days were narrowing on that. He felt more like himself now than ever before, felt more sure of himself than he had in months,  _ years _ . 

He had stayed in Budapest two days past their agreed upon time, hoping beyond anything that Bucky would have actually met him. But he saw the reports, heard all the stories, and he knew it wasn’t going to happen. Apparently he was taken in along with Steve Rogers and the new king of Wakanda for causing scale public panic and property damage. Coupled with the fact that Clint found a newspaper blaming Bucky for the bombing at a U.N. building, killing the old king of Wakanda, as well as being an infamous assassin, there was no way Bucky was going to escape. 

He lost Bucky. Clint wondered what would have happened if he had stayed home, wondered if somehow he could have gotten them out of the mess. Or at least maybe they could still be together in some weird way. He tried to squash those thoughts quickly, knowing there was no way any of that would have worked out in some fairytale way. He reminded himself that they both knew this could be an outcome, even if they didn’t want it to be.

The larger issue now was if HYDRA had reclaimed Bucky. Clint knew he had promised that if he had found out, he would do anything to kill the man he loved, no matter how much it hurt. He knew Bucky wouldn’t want to go back to that, wouldn’t want to be used to hurt people anymore, and Clint couldn’t disagree. If it were Clint in Bucky’s shoes, he would have asked for the same thing- he was tired of being used for someone else’s gains. So far- Clint hadn’t found any evidence that HYDRA had reclaimed him.

After nine days in Budapest, memories and altered dreams eating him away, Clint moved onto Verona for two days. He wanted just enough time to try to calm down, try to cope with being alone again. But he was anxious in the safehouse he had set aside all those years ago. It was dusty and dirty, but his things were still there. More passports, ways of blending in, and most importantly- money. He pocketed what he could and slept on it for two nights before he hopped a train that was heading towards Germany.

Clint had bought himself new clothing again, cold weather gear even though the weather in mid-march was starting to break towards spring. His dreams of visiting the northern countries would have to wait until summer then the cold would finally break up there as well. Until then, Germany would work- he could blend in there if he tried. 

_ I just wish things could have gone differently _ Clint thought, turning to lay on his side, curling up. He wished he could have helped in some way, still wish he could, but there was no way he could help without exposing himself along the way. He wasn’t sure Bucky would have agreed with that tactic, probably would have scolded him for being reckless. That thought alone brought a smile to Clint’s face; he could picture Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossing with a slightly raised tone because he wouldn’t want to escalate it into a fight, only for it to be followed by that half smile that Clint loved and a resigned sigh.

Clint pushed himself out of bed. He needed to get moving. He was determined after the bruises he had earned from Bobbi and her friend that he needed to get back into some fighting condition somehow. The feeling of uncertainty of being able to escape had set that voice in his head on fire, and he was determined not to feel that way again. So Clint was going to start running, start shooting, anything to get himself back into the condition he was in before New York happened, before Loki happened. 

He dressed in sweats and a sweatshirt, tying his shoes and mentally prepared himself. He would have sold his soul for some Stark tech right now that S.H.I.E.L.D. had made for him, hearing aids that could connect with a phone so he could listen to music as he ran. Instead, he slipped out the hearing aids he had, securing them in a pocket that zipped on his sweatshirt, and headed out for the day.

As much as Clint hated being alone- he was sure as hell going to learn to live with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short- sorry! But everything picks back up again next chapter, I promise.


	14. Chapter 14

_ Well, I finally made it. It may have taken me a few months longer than I anticipated, but I made it back to America. It’s kind of weird. I feel like I should like Washington DC because it’s close to home, or at least close to the place I always called home, but it’s actually kind of more boring than I expected. Kind of a let down. _

_ I did miss the food- the food has been amazing. Mostly it’s been junk food, which you would yell at me for, but hey! At least it’s not protein bars. Probably way too much pizza though. Seafood isn’t as good here as it was back in Europe, and no one makes that chicken dish you always made. But burgers! all the burgers. And donuts for breakfast because I don’t care what you say, donuts for breakfast are worth living (and dying) for. _

_ I walked around the Smithsonian, found the exhibit on Captain America and the Howling Commandos. I thought maybe it would make me feel closer to you again, but there were so few things about you there it was startling. But there was a small video clip, with you standing next to Rogers, and I really, really miss that smile. _

_ I guess what I am trying to say is I really miss you. _

It was probably the cheesiest, most sappy thing Clint had ever written- it was probably one of the few things he had ever written outside of mission reports. But somehow writing everything down made him feel closer to Bucky again. His handwriting wasn’t as good, not that either of them were much good at it to begin with, and he often forgot to write anything down, but he kept the journal close by at all times.

It had been five months since Romania, since he lost Bucky, and Clint was handling it a little better than he had anticipated. He had taken one month to just wait for Bucky, try to see if maybe he would get away from whoever had collected him. It was the longest month of his life, at least it felt that way. He had stayed in Budapest longer than he intended, and then Verona even longer than that. There was that small voice in his head telling him he was being ridiculous, but it was hard giving up hope.

From there, Clint slowly made his way to the places he always wanted to visit. Finland, Sweden, Norway- he never got to see the Northern Lights in person, but he wasn’t sure it would have cheered him up any. Nothing was cheering him up too much at the moment besides the random dogs he ran into. Not even coffee was doing it for him. He tried to do things he knew he would like, like archery; and then he tried to do the things he knew Bucky would have liked, but it left him craving something more than memories of their times together.

But Clint had made plans, more plans than he ever had in the last three years. Once back in America, he was going to find a small town to settle in, get a job, and try to stay as undercover as possible. He was tired of being a nomad, and Europe was beginning to remind him of everything he hated instead of what he loved. So he planned everything as carefully as he could, right down to which airport to fly into for customs. He only intended to be in Washington DC for a few days before he left for middle of nowhere, Tennessee; he thought there would be just as good as anywhere to settle. 

Clint looked around the bustling Mall plaza, tourists heading off to whatever destination they were most excited to see while others were in their business professional for work. He twirled the pen in his hands before he looked back down, tapping it a few times.

_ I finally remembered what I did- how I killed her. It happened all the way back in Sweden, two months ago but I couldn’t write it down. It still feels wrong to write it down. But I know you would be mad if I didn’t tell you, and waiting this long would have made it worse because we try to share what we can. But this one is hard, harder than the rest. So maybe another day. _

Clint slapped the journal shut and packed it away in his backpack before he stood up. He needed to stop before he got ahead of himself, let unchecked emotions get the best of him and he would find himself stuck again, and he certainly didn’t want to let it all out in public. He barely wanted to let those emotions get the best of him while alone- he was more likely to get caught in the states, and he needed to keep himself sharp.

He held onto the straps as he walked back to the subway, ready to go back to where his hotel was. He still needed to do some job searching for where he intended to move to, at least to get some solid leads. And the food on that side of town was cheaper than where he currently was- and cheaper food always meant better taste to Clint because they weren’t worried about the calories or anything like that. 

After getting food and buying what limited supplies he needed, Clint made it back to his hotel room and sat down, groaning as he did so. He laid back and stretched out as much as he could, letting everything pop and pull that wanted to before he could settle for a moment. Once he felt less tense, he was up again. He changed the batteries in his hearing aids before he was on a laptop he had bought and was looking for jobs until he was so bored he could barely keep his eyes open.

Clint heard a faint noise near the door and tensed. He looked over and slowly got up, setting the laptop down. There was no talking, no movement from what he could tell but he knew he heard something. He looked down and there was an envelope slipped under his door. Clint walked backwards and to the side, trying to get out the slight line of the window before he could peer outside. There was nothing outstandingly suspicious on the streets, all the cars looked normal. No vans that pulled his attention. He looked back at the envelope before he carefully made his way over.

_ Gloves _ he thought before he got to the bathroom, going through his first aid kit and pulling a pair out. He pulled them on before he picked the envelope up, turning it around. It was unmarked, no name or anything on the outside. Clint wished that his kit came with some sort of particulate mask, just in the off chance there was a breathable powder on the inside. He carefully opened it over the sink and stared at the bright purple card. It looked normal, and what little of it he did shake, nothing happened. So he slowly opened it and saw a key, catching it before it could hit the sink. He set the card down before he held the key up, inspecting it before he tossed it away from him, grabbing the card.

_ Go back home. Two days. I’ll be waiting. -N _

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and set the card down before he gripped the sink. He made it exactly three days before he was noticed. And worse yet- someone knew where he had lived previously and had a spare key. And he knew he didn’t hand those out to many people. In fact, Clint could count the number of people on one hand that possessed the spares to his apartment in Bed-Stuy.  _ Someone got my key from her _ he thought. It wasn’t like Natasha to slip somehow- she would have hidden that key in a spot no one would find it. But clearly-

He shook the thought out of his head and carefully stuffed the card and key back into the envelope and closed it before ripping the gloves off. Someone was toying with him, and he couldn’t stop feeling that it was likely HYDRA at this point. He only had a handful of run-ins in the last five months. It was more names and faces of people who knew him from his time at S.H.I.E.L.D., each telling him the same thing- that they wanted to help and to bring him home. He was pretty sure two of the people he ran into weren’t even field agents, people who worked in the technical and medical side of the department. And the four other agents he had run into weren't people he couldn’t take. His last run-in was with two HYDRA agents, which sparked a large amount of fear in him as soon as he got a clue as to what was happening, but again, thankfully, they weren’t people Clint couldn’t have dealt with on a bad day. A few bumps, bruises, and abrasions later, Clint was still in one piece.

He walked back out of the bathroom, hugging the walls as he moved, his eyes sweeping over the window. He laid flat on the bed and pulled his bags out. He needed a solid plan. He couldn’t leave immediately- they would still be in the area likely and expecting that move. But he knew he couldn’t wait too long or else he would draw more attention to his plan of escape. He needed to move at rush hour, where he could blend in easier with the crowds and hopefully catch a bus somewhere they weren’t expecting. His thoughts of going directly to Tennessee were dashed- in fact, he thought maybe he shouldn’t go there at all in case someone hacked the computer he was using. He was going to have to make a split second decision at the bus station, find a bus close to the New York bus.

All Clint knew was that there was no way in hell he was going to go to Bed-Stuy now.

Clint waited as long as he could before he left his hotel room, combining all of his belongings into one backpack, trying to keep it as lightweight as he could. He didn’t sleep all night, trying to come up with as many backup plans as he could in case everything went to hell. He took the card that had the key in it and read it one more time, wishing it could have actually been Natasha that wrote it.

Leaving through the front, Clint pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt and tried to blend in. He knew which way to take to the bus station for his ticket out of there, but he looped it, just in case someone was following him. He took his time while ordering the biggest coffee he could, and then walked at an even, unhurried pace. 

He was a few blocks from the train station when he noticed a man walking right towards him, not even trying to look away or hide his intentions. Clint stopped and shifted his bag as he scanned him, top to bottom, trying to figure out where he could be hiding weapons. Clint didn’t know the man, not even a little bit.

“Clint Barton,” he said, “I need you to come with me.”

“Yeah, going to have to pass on the offer. My mother taught me stranger danger,” Clint replied. “Thanks though. Have a great day.” Clint went to pass him and felt a hand in his arm and he had to remind himself not to turn around and slug the man.

“My name is Sam Wilson. I work with Captain America,” he said softly.  _ Steve fuckin’ Rogers he means. Bucky’s best friend. Or… was. _ “And you are in danger.”

“That’s just my life, pal,” Clint replied. “I am going to continue on my way now, alright?” Clint watched Sam for a moment before he shrugged off the hand and walked past him.

Clint didn’t make it far before Sam caught up with him. “I really think you should-” was all he got out by the time Clint reacted to the man’s hand back on him. Clint turned and grabbed ahold of it, spinning them around until he could get Sam flipped and on the ground. Clint took off like a rocket, heading down a back street. He didn’t know this part of town as well, but he knew there had to be some place he could hide.

He came to a stop when a loud whirring and whistling noise caught his attention, his hearing aids producing feedback he wasn’t used to. He squinted and looked up before he stood a few steps back.  _ You have got to be kidding me _ he thought in awe. He knew that suit, the red and the gold- he had seen it so many times on television. And yet- here it was.

“Hey there, Clint,” he heard it announce in a cheerful greeting. “I think I should- hey!”

Clint took off again, doubling back and finding a tight spot where he knew it would be hard for Iron Man to follow. He shimmied his way down towards a small clearing and caught his breath, tilting his head skyward. He needed a new plan and his brain was scrambling on him. He carefully made his way down this alley and out before he ran into Sam again.

“Clint, you need to-”

“How in the fuck?” Clint asked, startled at the appearance. He reached around, touched where Sam had, but didn’t feel anything. “How are you tracking me?” he asked angrily.

“Look man, I just need you to-”

Clint launched back at him. Sam seemed more prepared this time, put up a better fight. Clint knew he was racing against the clock before Iron Man would catch up, so he had to go harder. He finally made a break for it and jumped, reaching up to pull himself up onto a fire escape and started racing up the stairs. He could hear Sam following behind him. Clint got onto the roof and skidded to a stop, spotting more men advancing in tactical gear.

Sam came up behind him and stopped as well. “Oh shit.”

“Not your friends?” Clint asked before the first gun was fired that sent both men scrambling back down.

“Barton is with me but we ran into some trouble,” Sam said, touching his earpiece. Clint glared at it before he shoved Sam as hard as he could through an open window. “We can’t-”

“They have  _ guns _ ,” Clint hissed as he got the door. He looked out then heard the footfalls. “Shit.”

“Great, I don’t think I’ve ever been kidnapped before,” Sam commented.

“Lucky you,” Clint muttered. “I have.” He saw people at the fire escape first and held his hands up. “Too many of them to take so… buckle in rookie. You are in for a treat.”


	15. Chapter 15

Talking with Sam was next to impossible during the van ride, not that Clint had much advice to give when it came to kidnapping. Mostly it was either you became a giant pain in their ass, get smacked around a few times, or wait docility for backup to arrive, and Sam was certainly the latter. If he had any amount of training, Clint was positive Sam wouldn’t talk, the resting bitch face alone told Clint that Sam was a no nonsense kind of guy, which meant he was going to get roughed up but hopefully nothing serious.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Clint muttered, trying to stay as low key about it as he could.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. This has been amazing,,” Sam replied dryly. “Let’s see- get captured by these assholes or face the wrath of-”

“Enough,” a guard said, smacking the back of Sam’s head. 

Sam stayed leaned forward for a minute before he sat up straight. Clint had seen that look in many agents before- the calm, expressionless features that never reached the eyes, which tended to lean somewhere towards ‘when I get out of this, you are the first one I’m going to kill’. Clint knew first hand how to administer that look and he couldn’t help the smirk he got when thinking about it. Clint was fairly certain Sam was one of those guys Clint would have loved to hang out with outside of work; he was pretty sure after all this trouble he wouldn’t be given the chance.

Once they were dragged out of the van though was when Clint decided he needed to kick it up a notch. He knew every second counted, which meant he didn’t want to spend those moments in any real situation where he didn’t have some level of control. It meant putting up that fight, even if he knew in the end it wouldn’t really matter. Just because Clint gave himself away willingly to them didn’t mean he had intentions of making it easy. The moment he could, Clint was stalling, dragging his feet, anything to drag out the time because he knew what was coming. He had been kidnapped enough times to know that if they were sporting guns and wearing tactical gear, they weren’t only looking for a ransom. On the way down the hall, he earned himself a punch to the ribs and another to the jaw. If it wasn’t for the fact he didn’t particularly care for a broken jaw, he probably would have informed the man that he hit like a toddler.

At least Sam took the other approach; Clint would have felt worse about the whole scenario if Sam took after him and got roughed up more than strictly necessary. He was pretty sure at one point he did catch a smirk out of the other man, which was good enough. 

Clint saw the guards drag Sam into a room, slamming the door shut. Clint growled when they walked past that and he found himself in a different room. He felt the air leave him as soon as he was dragged in and he tried to pull back. It would have been more comforting if the room looked like they did in horror films, dingy and gloomy with a chair near a corner with a light hanging over it. Clint was used to grimy rooms in these types of situations.

What Clint was greeted with was something more cold and sterile that made him want to vomit. It smelled like it had been cleaned two or three times, the scent overwhelmingly strong. The flood of memories and emotions tied into a sterilized medical room were too much for him to handle. He managed to break one man’s hold, and his nose, before he was tackled down and strapped down to the metal examination chair. Clint pulled against the straps a few good times before he went still.

“Agent Barton- it is nice to finally meet you,” a man said as he walked in. Clint reminded himself to breathe, to not back down, to look threatening. What he really wanted to do was shrink away, avoid those gloved hands. “We read your file after Romanoff released the records on all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.”

“She’s dead.”

“Ah, I see that lie is firmly stuck in your head still. Probably lasting effects from the T.A.H.I.T.I. project.” Clint watched the man walk to the side of the chair, to a small table. “Although your notes don’t reflect the notes of the other patients.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Clint admitted, his stomach turning queasy.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” he replied, turning around and holding a long needle. “Don’t worry- this will only hurt a little.” Clint stared at the needle and felt his heart rate pick up, his breathing increase. “Make sure to hold him still for this part. We don’t want a mistake in case Fury was hiding any details from his files.” Clint struggled as much as he could, trying desperately to keep away from the needle. As soon as the needle was inserted near his hip Clint winced and closed his eyes. “As I said- this will only hurt a little.”

Clint hated the cold. He knew he was shivering but he refused to open his eyes; he couldn’t be sure what he was going to see- if he was going to wake up in a dream again, Loki being the ringleader, or reality where he could see the bruised arms and broken veins, hooked up to who knew what. For a change, he was thankful he couldn’t hear anything because he could also delude himself into believing that he wasn’t back to being a human guinea pig again. 

He had lost track of time awhile go- somewhere between a marrow extraction and a lumbar puncture. If it wasn’t for the gag in his mouth, he would have asked for something to dull the aches and shooting pains. As it was- he was still strapped in, still in pain, he wondering where the hell he was, or what they needed all the tests for. He still couldn’t remember anything about a T.A.H.I.T.I. project, and he  _ knew _ that he knew everything from that time. No one had mentioned it to him- which was smart.

He opened his eyes when someone touched his face and he jerked his head to the side, the gag being removed. Clint stared at yet another person he had never seen in his life. He was holding onto a book, waving it a little too cheerfully before Clint caught on.  _ See, Bucky, this is why you don’t keep a goddamn diary _ he thought bitterly. The agent tossed the book down and turned on Clint’s hearing aids, while Clint did his best not to shy away from the touch as he stared the man down. Considering the pitiful state he was in, Clint was pretty sure there was no way in hell he looked threatening.

“Where is The Asset?” the man asked patiently.

“I don’t know who that is,” Clint replied.

“You do know who that is.” The man picked up the journal. “Interestingly enough, you only mention him after Romania. It is when you started writing.”

“I don’t know anyone that goes by that name,” Clint repeated defiantly.

The man tsked and paced slowly. Clint tracked his movements. “I read your file. I know you were once trained for moments like this. I know you were labeled many things, stubborn being a keyword that popped up.”

“I am guessing that came from Hill,” Clint said dryly. “She probably added other colorful words like “lazy” and-”

“Intentionally playing his intelligence down,” the man finished and Clint glared. “No one believes it if it makes you feel any better. Everyone knows you are skilled but intelligent? Not the infamous Hawkeye. But I know better. I can see it.”

“First for everything.”

The man chuckled and tossed the book down. “Do you want to know fully what S.H.I.E.L.D. did to you?”

“Project T.A.H.I.T.I.,” Clint answered as boredly as he could. “And not particularly.”

“Oh no, you weren’t in any mortal peril. That was reserved for… well, people who could die that Fury didn’t want dead,” the man eluded. “You weren’t in danger of dying. You were hurt, unable to cope with what you had done, but they made sure at all times you weren’t at threat of anything worse than the mental struggle you were having.” Clint felt his lips twitch against his will, but he remained silent. “You only got one portion of the entire project. We ran tests, wanted to see if maybe Fury had injected you with alien DNA and-”

“ _ What _ ?” Clint asked, snarling. “He did  _ what? _ ”

The doctor looked surprised by the outburst before he grinned. Clint was mad at himself for allowing himself to have a reaction, especially one that seemed to please the other man. “The T.A.H.I.T.I. project revived people by using alien DNA, taking advantage of it’s regeneration factors and-”

If the doctor had said anything more, Clint didn’t catch it. He felt himself becoming twitchy at the thought, disturbed and angry. It was violating, and there was no way Clint would have agreed to any treatment involving that. Even if he told himself that the man had said Fury had never injected him with anything, the thought behind it made Clint sick.

“Instead, they only used part of the project, erasing memories and creating new ones,” the doctor said and Clint looked up. “Only… it never worked the way they wanted. Your memories always leaked out the sides until the fake ones broke away.” Clint watched as he stepped closer, wanting to shrink back. “For everything you hated HYDRA for, it was happening, right here.”

“There would have been waivers to fill out, people would have had a choice,” Clint said, his voice faltering.

“Did you?” he asked.

And Clint wasn’t sure what the answer was. Fury would have given him the choice, Fury knew how much having choices mattered to his agents, but Clint couldn’t remember being given a choice. He could remember being dragged away from Natasha’s body, he could remember his own blood- and then he remembered waking up and not knowing who he was or where he was. Again and again, he could remember slowly breaking free of that-

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. He could remember that machine, the soothing voice giving instructions. He could remember pain, a lot of pain, and then blankness. There was a time it hadn’t worked from the get go and Clint broke the wrist of an agent as he got away from that table and the machine. He could remember how pissed Fury was, could remember seeing him and Hill fighting over something, probably his behavior. But he couldn’t remember agreeing to the damn protocol.

“Where is the Asset?”

Clint opened his eyes. “His name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Clint growled. “His friends called him Bucky. And that is who he is.”

“You are making this far more difficult than what it needs to be,” the man said and the chair Clint was on started to angle back and Clint felt the panic rising. “Where is the Asset? The Winter Soldier?”

And that’s when the thought finally struck him. They had no idea where Bucky was- they were still looking for him. Clint couldn’t help the sob that escaped his chest, nor the way his lips were pulling up into a grateful smile. Because for the life of him- HYDRA didn’t have Bucky. Bucky was safe, or relatively so.

“You find this funny?” the man asked, his voice turning to ice.

“You can’t find him, they got him so well hidden,” Clint laughed, feeling the tears stream down his face. “And if Rogers had anything to do with it, you’ll never get him back. He is safe.” He choked on a bit of forced air before he laughed again.

Clint closed his eyes and breathed in the rush of relief he felt. He knew that it was short lived, that the next bad thing was coming, but for a moment it didn’t matter.  _ Steve got Bucky- Steve won’t let anything happen to him. He can live- he can be happy and he can live and be the best version of himself he can dream up. _

“Let’s see how much of the T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol you remember,” the doctor said.

Clint wasn’t going to respond, he wouldn’t allow himself to. He knew what was coming, he knew what he was going to lose all over again. As he waited for the makeshift machine to warm up, something buzzing alive near his ear, he felt an odd sense of calmness wash over him. If he was going to survive this once again, he was going to have to take it as slowly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lack self-control. I said "it's one more day, Britt, you should wait, keep to a schedule" and the other part of me (the part that won out in this case) said "Yeah but... tomorrow is a busy, busy day." Didn't help Falcon and the Winter Solider (comic) came out today, I read it, and Im filled with happiness. =P So here it is a day early! Everybody wins! (....except Clint and Sam currently... they most definitely don't win in this chapter.)


	16. Chapter 16

_ Clinton Francis Barton. Born… in June. June sixteenth? No, eighteenth. I lost my parents when I was young- I joined a circus. And then… and then they found me. _

Clint sat in a small cell, curled up in a corner and trying to grasp everything he was forgetting. He rubbed at the rawness on his wrists, and at least that part now made sense. He dug his nails in a little painfully, trying to focus himself again when he felt himself dozing off.

_ Coulson found me. It was Coulson. And he made me join…. He had me join the… blank. _

It wasn’t like the last time. Last time he had to pick out what elements were true and which ones were not. Telling fantasy from reality was a special kind of torture. But this time it was different- this time he was trying to pull up all the bigger details, filling in blank slots where there was nothing. Clint hated the nothingness, always had- it made him feel like he  _ was _ nothing, which was a insecurity he didn’t have time to reflect on. He needed to focus, remember everything he could before the next round, before they tried to take more away.

_ S.H.I.E.L.D. I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., became a good guy. I think. And then I made her join- I brought her in. It felt safe, she felt safe. Assassins really shouldn’t feel safe. But we were partners, a team called… I have no idea. No one knew what we dealt with behind the scene. They didn’t know the nightmares we had, especially her’s- they didn’t know what it was like to hate yourself more than anything or anyone because of the things you did. But we knew, and we had each other and that was enough. _

_ And then… then nothing. There is nothing again. Just a lot of dark and- unmade. Getting unmade. Blue- all the blue. No, it has to stop. Shit- redirect. Him- think about him. Brown hair, blue eyes- safe. He was safe, he  _ **_is_ ** _ safe.  _

Clint forced himself to think about the man who’s name was escaping him, fixate on him. There were bad memories there, but they were outweighed by all the good ones he could manage to remember. He had tried that with the red head as well, knowing who they were to each other, but it was usually overcast by what he had done that he tried not to dwell on it. So far they had taken their names away, but they hadn’t taken away their faces, his feelings. Although some of them felt more fleeting than others.

_ Again. Slower. I am Clinton Francis Barton. I was born in- I was born in Iowa. My parents were- don’t remember. I had a brother- Barney. I was born in June and- _

Clint repeated the process as many times as he could, desperately trying to hold onto the pieces before they could fall away again. It would have been a lot easier if he wasn’t freezing, distracting him often enough that he would have to start back at the beginning again. He shivered and curled up just a little tighter before the pain in his ribs started to ache again and he had to loosen up. He knew yesterday the name of the man that had left him bruised, but he had no shot of remembering it today; Clint couldn’t act like he didn’t deserve it either because he  _ had _ bitten the man hard enough to make him bleed.  _ Probably not the most mature thing for an assassin to do but boy was it worth it. _

Clint’s eyes flickered up when he caught movement by his cell, shadows cast under the doorway. He straightened himself up, ready for another round of pissing off guards and trying to delay the inevitable. He loved to make things harder for the people who were supposed to drag him to and from that room, loved to make them swear as they struggled to contain him. And while he wasn’t feeling nearly as strong as he had to begin with, that didn’t mean Clint was going to make it easy.

_ I am Clint Barton, senior agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. I am an archer, a spy, assassin. I am codename Hawkeye, and I never miss. I am the best sniper S.H.I.E.L.D. has, gun or otherwise. This looks bad- but I have been through a hell of a lot worse. _

The door opened and two guards came in, hauling him up by his arms. Clint dragged his feet, did everything possible to delay the time. He twisted and turned, headbutted one of the men and wedged himself loose from the other with a well aimed elbow to the throat. He made it a few stumbled steps before was tackled to the ground and on instinct he tried to curl up, ready for the blows. And instead of those, they grabbed him and hauled him up and continued- and that was new.

He saw lips moving, he saw frantic looks. For the first time in two days, or thereabouts, Clint wished he wouldn’t have broken his hearing aids. He couldn’t hear a damn thing around him, and due to the almost panicked look in the guards’ eyes, he was willing to bet something very interesting was happening. So Clint fought harder, tried to put everything he had into the struggle. Because if  _ they _ were scared, he knew whatever was happening was going to play out in his favor. He pushed and shoved, tried to trip them up. He just needed to stall them out until someone could find him. He made noise, shouted, anything he could to draw attention.

His head snapped to the side and he stumbled when the one guard hit him. Clint didn’t have time to recover before he was dragged around a corner. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts when one set of hands left him. He looked up and saw a flash of blue and felt the other man shifting his hold, one hand leaving. Clint saw where it was heading and jerked them to the side, running them both into a wall. He tried to push past the pain when his hip checked the wall but instead fell, his leg giving out on him.

He waited for the follow through but nothing came. He opened one eye and saw the man at his side and Clint scooted himself back and away. He glanced up enough to see familiar boots and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He slowly pulled his eyes up, taking in every curve, the belt buckle at her waist before he finally landed on those green eyes.

_ Breathe _ she signed but Clint wasn’t sure if he knew how. She was hesitant, something so foreign to him when it came from her, her fingers moving slower.  _ Clint, breathe _ she signed again, but he was too focused on her breathing, on the way her hair was shorter than he had remembered it last. She looked so real that it hurt.

_ Clint. _ Clint blinked back the tears that were forming but he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name to sign anything back.  _ Steve is picking you up. Do not fight. _ Clint wasn’t sure who Steve was, or why he would want to pick Clint up. He felt hands on him and he flinched before he looked up at calming, reassuring blue eyes. He held fast for a moment before he slowly helped Clint to his feet. Clint looked at the man, something familiar about him just at the surface before he looked back. She was closer and her fingers twitched as they came closer to Clint’s face. He flinched back from the touch as soon as her fingers grazed his skin and watched the disappointment flood her eyes, and he wanted desperate to take the reaction back.

He saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. The woman and her companion looked over at the metal suit, talking. And then he saw someone he knew- the man who was brought in with him. He had a swollen eye, a split lip, what clearly appeared to be a broken wrist, and was looking like he wanted to be talking to anyone else than that group. The only words he could catch out of the other man’s mouth were “this is bullshit”. Clint’s lips twitched in a small smirk for just a moment before the ground shook and he stumbled.

When he recovered his eyes were level with the woman, his friend- partner. She looked sad as she took his hand and Clint looked down before he looked back up. She was rarely this soft- something she had reserved for him. He huffed out some air before something sharp stuck him in the thigh. He forced as much air into his lungs as he could before he looked down, the needled being drawn back slowly.

He stopped at her hands, the signing.  _ It will be okay. _ He looked at her eyes, saw something oddly protective and familiar before everything went black again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! Nat lived! I wasn't evil (I am literally the worst at being evil in general- I'm kind of a fluffy person). Two more to go! Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	17. Chapter 17

Clint stood by the window and tried to get his baring to where he could be. There didn’t appear to be anything for miles, nothing but farmland. There was a jet outside, something that made him excited for some reason that he couldn’t quite grasp yet. He had a feeling he knew where he was, but it looked so different that he couldn’t be sure.

He had woken up without being restrained, which Clint took for a win. The door was locked from the outside, something he wasn’t particularly a fan of, and the windows seemed to be nailed shut or something because he sure as hell wasn’t able to open them. His wrists were bandaged, so were his ribs, and there was a note on the bedside table telling him to take tylenol when he woke up, along with exactly two pills and a flimsy plastic cup of water. He had considered not taking it, not enjoying the idea that maybe this was another trick to keep him pliant and under control, but the throbbing pains won out and he forced them down.

_ One more time. I am Clinton Francis Barton. I was- _

Clint ran through his memories for the third time since he woke up. There were still holes, parts that were fuzzy around the edges, but he didn’t notice anything new gone. The fact he was on run three had him a little concerned though, but he was admittedly distracted by trying to get someone’s attention; he didn’t know if he was being loud enough for anyone to notice him, but he  _ had _ stomped a few times, banged on the door. It led him to believe he was either alone, or they were purposely making him sit tight.

Clint felt a vibration, knowing full well it was heavy footsteps, turned to look across the room as the door finally opened. The tall blond from yesterday was standing there, dressed down in a tshirt and jeans as he closed the door. Clint eyed him suspiciously as he dug in his pockets before he pulled out two small, flesh colored discs. Clint walked over and carefully took them from the man, backing up as he turned them on and put them into his ear.  _ S.H.I.E.L.D. pieces  _ he thought as he waited, staring at the man.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, sounding a little on the nervous side.

“Confused,” Clint admitted with a shrug, walking back to the window. “Where am I?”

“Iowa.”

Clint couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. “I hate Iowa,” he said. “They changed the farmhouse.”

“Natasha said you wouldn’t mind,” the blond answered. “She said you hated this place but it’s safe. And yes, she had it altered a little.” Clint noticed the way he wasn’t moving any closer, sticking to the door. It would have troubled Clint more to have the exit blocked if it wasn’t for the fact that he felt safe where he was. “I’m Steve Rogers. We’ve met before.”

“You’re his friend,” Clint said, not taking his eyes away from outside.

“Who’s friend?”

Clint shook his head. “I can’t remember his name. They called him The Asset.”

“Bucky.”

Clint closed his eyes upon hearing the name.  _ Bucky. _ “He safe?”

“He is,” Steve replied. “How much do you remember about him?”

Clint looked over at Steve and tried to get a feel for how he was feeling. “I remember- detangling his hair before he showered. Braiding it or pulling it up in a bun every day that he would let me. Especially when he wrote in his journal,” Clint answered. “I remember… dancing, fighting, kissing, and the bed.” There was a flicker of pain in Steve’s eyes and Clint didn’t know why for a moment. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong,” Steve assured him. 

Clint nodded and thought for a minute. “How’s the other guy? The guy from the base?”

“Sam?” Steve asked. “Sam is alright. Broken wrist was the worst of it.” Steve finally shifted away from the door just a hair, and even more when Clint didn’t make an attempt to leave. “Natasha wants to visit but she doesn’t want you to have a violent reaction. Will that be okay?”

Clint frowned at the question. “I thought I killed her.” He hoped that conveyed everything Steve was looking for.

“We all thought you had,” Steve answered. “And you almost did, not that she would ever admit to that. But I think she would rather talk to you about that than have me go over it. In her own words, I would somehow manage to make things worse.”

Clint smirked. “Well, she probably isn’t wrong there, Stevie.” Steve frowned and Clint blinked. “He called you that. The Asset- Bucky.” Clint rubbed his face. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” Steve said. Clint bit back the bitterness he felt at that because there was no way Steve could understand. But he had been nice so Clint wasn’t going to make an ass of himself. “Alright. Natasha’s turn next. And let her know if those work for you- Tony can always come up with better.”

“Tony?” Clint asked.

“Tony Stark? Iron Man?” Steve asked.

“Ah, Tin Can man, sure,” Clint replied, faking his understanding. Steve nodded before he left the room and Clint heard the lock settle back in place. He turned back to the window and took the time to make sure he had his breathing back under control.

It took several minutes before he heard the lock turning again and the door being opened. Clint looked back and forgot how to breathe all over again. Natasha set a plate down on the bed, moving slowly, almost as hesitantly as she had previously. He blinked back the tears and covered his eyes with his palms.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Breathe,” Natasha said in a scolding way. “Clint you have to-”

“Budapest. What happened?” he asked, dropping his hands. Natasha stared at him, her head cocked to the side. “I remember what happened- do you?”

“Which time?” Natasha asked. Clint could only stare. Natasha nodded and smiled. “We hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database to place a false mission report for there under STRIKE, filling in Fury’s credentials so that it would remain sealed. We went there for five nights, rented the most expensive hotel room we could, drank way too much, and nearly died in a hot tub.”

“The hot tub was  _ your _ idea,” Clint stressed, though he knew he was smiling as he said it.

Natasha pulled a face of disbelief before crossing her arms. “I think you and I remember Budapest very differently,” she commented and Clint felt like he could breathe again. It was her- she was there. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how she could be real at the moment and he wanted to reach out, hug her, push back her hair, do  _ something _ to assure himself that she was real this time. Instead, he focused on making sure he didn’t start crying or worse. “Fury joined us on our last night, yelled at us for  _ hours _ about wasting resources. And you looked up with the lopsided smirk and told him that’s what he got for sending us to China for two weeks.”

“I don’t remember China,” Clint admitted.

“You really don’t want to remember China- you hated China,” Natasha mused. She stepped closer and reached her hands out. “Do you have any idea how hard I searched for you?” she asked. “Three years, Clint.” When Clint didn’t move away, her arms went around his shoulders and she pulled herself up to her toes, hugging him tightly. Clint walked into the hug and wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes, and it felt  _ right _ again. He couldn’t help how tightly he closed his eyes, how tightly he hugged her back as he breathed in her scent. 

“How are you not dead?” he asked. “Don’t say T.A.H.I.T.I. Please-”

“Two surgeries and some good medical staffing. Took a few long weeks to get back on track, but it is adorable how you think you could actually kill me.” Natasha settled back down on her feet, her hands on his chest. She looked concerned. “They told you about the project?”

Clint nodded. “Did I volunteer?” he asked. “Or did he force it on me?”

“Volunteered in a way,” Natasha said. “You weren’t in the right mindset to make that decision, and Fury might have taken it too far. But you were given the choice. You were worried, and admittedly, they were worried that maybe the whole mind control thing wasn’t actually over. You were doing what you thought was needed. Guess it never worked the way they expected it to.”

Clint nodded and stepped back before he looked at the plate. “You know, just coming back and everything… a guy would have thought his best friend would have ordered something better, like pizza.” He knew the joke was lame as it came out, but it saved him from the feelings that were building, and he wasn’t ready to deal with those quite yet, not while he still tangibly had Natasha’s attention.

“Did you miss the part where I was looking for you for three years? Closer to four at this point.” Natasha said smoothly, walking to the bed and picking up the plate. “You should feel fortunate that this isn’t a salad.” Clint laughed and took the plate. “The closest I got was when Steve found you and you ran.”

“Yeah well- I wasn’t really feeling going back to not remembering anything again,” Clint answered before he took a bite from his sandwich and pulled a face, opening it up and looking inside. “Okay, we really need to convince you to put jelly on these things. It tastes worse than my cooking.”

Natasha was silent on the matter and Clint finished his sandwich. His head was swimming with a million different questions but none of them would stick around long enough for him to grasp it. He set the plate down and stretched. “So you aren’t a life model decoy?”

“No. But it was impressive you ripped the arm off the one,” Natasha answered. “I told Fury that was probably the worst idea he had ever had in his life, and there was a long list of contenders. After that, anytime I did manage to see you, you automatically went back to thinking I was a LMD, went back into fight mode. Part of the reason I couldn’t come find you myself.” Natasha almost looked ashamed, in the small way her face shifted. Clint took a deep breath and held it, trying to think of how to make things better.

“Impressive what the mind can do,” Clint replied carefully, not wanting to hurt her anymore than he had without realizing it.

“And it’s impressive how many fake IDs you owned that I didn’t have knowledge of.”

Clint noted the hint of hurt behind her voice. “I suppose that’s what you get for the blonde one.” Natasha rose an eyebrow. “I don’t remember her name. That little thing you hid. The other widow girl.”

“Yelena,” Natasha said.

“Sure. That’s what you get for that Yelena trap.”

“That was ten years ago,” Natasha protested with a slight smile.

“Yeah, well- you still suck for it,” Clint replied lamely, wincing at how it came out. But it was worth it when Natasha laughed, a real laugh, and his heart did that little fluttery thing. He sat down on the bed. “What is going to happen now?” he asked. “Where do we go from here?”

Natasha sat down next to him. “You recover and we reevaluate then,” she said gently. Her fingers found their way to his hand and he took them. “We take it slow, as slow as you need.”

“And Bucky?” Natasha went silent again. “Steve said he was safe. Is that true?”

“He is safe.”

“I want to see him.” Clint needed to see him, needed to see he was safe with his own eyes.

“He is with the Wakandans. It may take awhile before you can visit,” she said slowly, carefully, and that didn’t make Clint feel any better. “He is safe, no one can hurt him there. But there are things that have to happen to make him safe for the public. The first is removing the trigger words HYRA used to control him. And they need to fix his arm.” Natasha smiled a little. “If it helps, he was just as worried about you as you are him. The only reason we could find you anywhere in Europe was because he quickly mentioned all the places you talked about wanting to visit.” She bumped him. “I am pretty sure I consistently tell you not to do dumb things. So then you went ahead and made yourself all comfy cozy with an assassin?”

“I clearly have a type,” Clint answered. “Unless Steve-” Natasha looked at him oddly when Clint stopped talking. “Unless Steve and Bucky were a thing and they want to work things out, then I guess-”

“Steve and Bucky aren’t dating. Never were,” Natasha said. “Steve has just as many questions about your time with Bucky as you have about, well, everything I am sure. But Bruce warned him that too much too fast might make you anxious.”

“ _ You _ make me anxious,” Clint pointed out.

“That’s because you thought I was dead when clearly- I am not,” Natasha replied before she stood up. “You are the closest thing to Bucky he has at the moment. He just wants to pick your brain, Clint. I promise, that is all it is. But he needs to wait for the dust to settle. You come first in this.”

“You know… I know an excellent way for the dust to settle a little easier,” Clint said, feeling hopeful. Natasha arched an eyebrow. “It involves me going outside and shooting.”

“You can’t do it alone,” Natasha said as firmly as she could. “And not for long, injured and all.”

Clint was expecting that. There was too much left unsettled, too many questions about his mental state. And then there was the event on if HYDRA found them all the way out in the middle of nowhere.

“Honestly? I kinda don’t want to be alone ever again,” Clint answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Way happier chapter! =) Lots of things tied up. One more to go!


	18. Chapter 18

“I believe I told you to  _ stay in the goddamn Tower _ ,” Natasha said angrily, her voice dripping with a certain level of venom that always made Clint smirk, feel a rush of adrenaline like he was playing with something dangerous.

“I believe I told you that I was bored and wanted to shoot something,” Clint sang back to her, as sugary sweet as he could.

“ _ Barton being a pain in everyone’s ass again? _ ” Sam asked over the comms.

“You mean helping save the day? Yes,” Clint answered with a smirk.

“ _ Doubt it. _ ”  _ Yep, I love Sam _ Clint thought as he followed Natasha.

Things had moved probably too quickly, but having something to do, new experiences, kept Clint from letting all the bad memories eat him alive. There were gaps that wouldn’t fill in and he sure as hell wasn’t going to see a therapist about it. Bruce Banner, as Clint learned a few days into his stay at the farm, figured it was a side effect of HYDRA performing the experiment wrong and wasn’t convinced Clint would gain all those lost pieces back, at least not in a quick manner. The most frustrating part of it was forgetting names, and it seemed to affect his short term memory a bit; Clint wasn’t complaining too much about it openly, he still could remember most things, still had the big picture, and more importantly he had people who wanted to help him through this new challenge.

They had let him stay in the middle of nowhere Iowa for two months before Natasha declared he was safe enough to move into what the team fondly referred to as “The Tower”. Clint remembered staring up at the large, overwhelming structure before he promptly asked Tony if it was built as an overcompensation for something he was lacking. And while Natasha found it perfectly hilarious, Tony was sputtering mad about it.

The hardest part about living in the Tower was the AI system Tony had rigged up that was  _ everywhere _ . JARVIS, as the team called it, knew everything, and where everyone was in the Tower. Clint learned that the hard way when he had snuck his way down to the range, bow in hand, and JARVIS reported to him that Steve asked for his whereabouts and was on his way. The feeling of something he couldn’t see watching him made Clint’s skin crawl in the worst way. It was an unnerving presence but Clint had made it nearly a week before Bruce caught on that it was making him highly uncomfortable. Tony took the time to reprogram it, setting boundaries for a month to give Clint time to adjust to the presence.

Ten months away from Bucky and he was still being kept in the dark to his whereabouts, only being told he was staying in a place Clint had never heard of, and was perfectly safe. Steve would ask questions sometimes, ask what Clint knew about this new version of Bucky that was so unfamiliar to him, and Clint would share what he thought he could without infringing on Bucky’s right to privacy. He could understand why Steve wanted to feel close to Bucky again, but at the same time it made it all the harder to cope being gone from him for so long.

“You aren’t ready for this level of combat yet,” Natasha said, leading him back into the Tower.

“I dunno, Tasha. I think that Doombot would disagree,” Clint responded playfully.

“You don’t have any armour on,” Natasha argued. “No gear to keep you safe. It’s reckless.”

“Who needs that when I shoot from a distance and with you around? And these are my extra grippy sneakers,” Clint teased, knowing just the perfect ways to get under her skin. “You’re not going to let anything happen to me, spidey girl. So we’re good.”

Natasha pulled a disgusted look at the moniker, not at all amused by his antics. But for the first time in Clint didn’t know how long he felt like he was alive and back to normal. He missed the hell out of Bucky, but he was doing something he knew he was born to do. And while the words “you were made to be a weapon” kept playing in the back of his head every time he picked up his bow, Clint reminded himself that he could pick how he could use himself as a weapon for something  _ good _ . He wasn’t anyone else’s tool if he didn’t let himself be that way.

Clint watched as the team cleaned up after their call out, his legs swinging from the shelving unit Tony insisted he hadn’t built for Clint to perch on, even though there was no clear reason why a shelf needed to be so far off the ground and hold up to three hundred pounds. Maybe Tony wasn’t willing to admit it yet, but Clint knew the man had a soft spot and Clint had wedged himself up in it.

“Wow, that was fun,” Tony said, coming in from his lab where Clint knew he had kept a few of his suits just in case. “Legolas, did you have a great time?” He was carrying a large box, all wrapped up in purple and gold.

“The best time,” Clint answered with a grin.

“Don’t. Don’t encourage him,” Natasha requested, shaking her head. But there was a hint of a smile there, a little bit of fondness behind her tone, and it made Clint feel a little weak.

“Got you a present. Consider it a welcome to the family gift,” Tony said, wiggling the box.

Clint blinked and slowly made his way down. “You got me a present?”

“We all did,” Steve answered. “One of us now- which means you better get used to this fast.” Clint’s eyes darted over to Natasha for confirmation and she barely nodded.

“Should have known- wrapped in purple,” Clint said, taking the box. “What is it?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Really? Open it and you’ll find out, Sherlock.”

“Keep it up, Tin Can,” Clint said before he sat the box down and opened it carefully. “Nothing is going to jump out at me, right? This isn’t some hazing event?”

“In all honesty, the last time one of us scared you, you shot a warning arrow between his legs as he  _ walked _ . We tend to learn fast,” Bruce pointed out with a weak smile. Clint couldn’t help but to snort; he almost forgot about the first time Steve had managed to sneak up on him.

“Hey, at least you learn,” Clint beamed. He opened the box and froze up. His fingers slowly traced their way over a bow, something that looked so familiar and yet oddly enough different.

“Your old bow was broken- Tony found a way to rebuild it,” Natasha told him. “Along with the custom quiver.”

“Which is a terrifying ordeal because one false move and things blow up,” Tony said. “You know how many mini-” Clint turned and hugged Tony as tightly as he could. “... Red, he is hugging me.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Natasha replied, sounding amused.

It took a moment before Tony patted Clint’s back awkwardly. “Okay, Legolas. Keep it up and we’ll have to get a room. There are  _ rules _ about how long hugging should last before it becomes sexual. And there’s more. Go look.”

Clint dropped his arms quickly and turned back around. He peeled back a layer or two of tissue paper before he felt fabric. He pulled out a one-piece suit slowly and eyed it. It was a darker purple with black accents, a custom guard built into the only sleeve on the suit and a chest guard to match on the side. The fabric felt incredibly soft and thin.

“What is it?” Clint asked.

“You want back in the field so bad? Shoot Doombots?” Steve asked. “This is your gear. Or… one variation. I believe Tony made two in case you didn’t like the one piece look and feel.”

“There are  _ two _ ?” Clint asked, digging more before he found the same uniform design, just in two separate pieces. 

“Told you he would be excited,” Natasha bragged, holding her hand out. Clint noticed the way Steve slipped some bill in her hand, not at all phased by the occurrence. 

“They still need some work done,” Tony said. “Natasha said you had attachment loops and other things you liked to keep things, well, attached. We will have to work those out when we have the time so you can-” Clint turned and Tony held his hands up, sliding back a step. “Oh no, one hug per day with you. You are a hugger, aren’t you?” he asked.

“This is incredible!” Clint declared excitedly. “How does it work? Why is it so thin?”

Tony stared at him in awe before there was a smirk. “Oh great, now you’ve done it,” Natasha groaned from the sidelines.

“JARVIS- can you bring up the sign I made for Natasha when she decides to get all snarky?” Clint requested only to be greeted with silence. He cocked his head, looking puzzled. “JARVIS?”

“About that- we might have one more surprise,” Steve said. 

Clint looked at Steve, perplexed before the door opened behind him. Clint shifted his gaze and felt his jaw go slack, the clothes falling from his hands. His breath caught and he took every detail in that he could. The relaxed fit jeans up to a red Henley shirt that had always looked good on him. His hair was pulled back sloppily into a bun, bits of it falling out around the side that made Clint’s fingers itch to fix it immediately. He stood there awkwardly, not sure if he should walk in more or stick to his current spot. 

“Bucky?” Clint asked softly, angling himself through a few steps to get a more complete look.

“Hey doll,” Bucky said, looking a little unsure of himself and his surroundings. 

Clint felt the tears forming before he could take off at a sprint, colliding too fast, too hard against Bucky and was thankful that the man could keep them both upright. Clint let out his held breath and melted into Bucky as much as he could, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing in the familiar scent. It took a minute before Bucky held him close, his head tilting closer to Clint’s ears.

“You act like you missed me.”

“You have no idea,” Clint whispered, huffing out a laugh. He took a step back and frowned, looking down at his once silver arm, now replaced with black and gold plating. Clint’s brows pulled tight and he touched it slowly, carefully. “It’s different. It’s missing that star,” he said when his eyes moved up.

“It’s better,” Bucky said soothingly. His hand came up and touched Clint’s jaw, pulling Clint’s attention from Bucky’s arm to his face. “Sorry it took me a little longer to find you. Didn’t meet up in Budapest like I promised. I hope this works though.”

Clint nodded and grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the kiss he had been holding back on. “We… have got a lot of catching up to do,” he said, his voice coming out weaker than he intended for it to.

“I think we’ve got all the time in the world now,” Bucky hinted.

  
  


Bonus scene:

Clint tried to find the sunniest patch in the middle of the field that he could before he flopped down with a content sigh. He closed his eyes as a very familiar weight sprawled itself on top of him, a wet nose pressing into his neck, his chest, before it gave a loud, needy yawn before settling. And while he wanted to complain because Lucky laying on top of him meant less sunlight soaking into his skin, Lucky was also warm and comfortable, and how could Clint ever get mad about that?

It had been a long two months, filled with therapy appointments and psychological testing, coupled with sneaking out to Avengers calls when they were in the city. It was long nights spent with people who had so many questions that Clint didn’t know where to even begin. It was nights spent alone for a few hours before either Bucky or Natasha would sneak their way onto his designated floor and ease him into sleep. It was almost non-stop stress in many different forms and Clint was worn.

It was after a particularly bad night for Bucky that Clint finally snapped. He didn’t  _ mean _ to come across as he had, but Bucky was losing some kind of mental battle, his nightmares coming more often than not, and Clint knew they both needed out before they both would say something they would regret. So Clint begged and pleaded for a break, a mini vacation, and Steve relented as long as they agreed to have at least  _ one _ Avenger within a thirty minute drive. And while Clint wanted to be an ass, remind all of them that both Bucky _ and  _ Clint were fully capable of taking care of themselves individually, he took the deal for what it was.

It had taken Bucky three days to calm down into being out in the middle of nowhere. Clint could understand it- it wasn’t a lot of protection in case something were to go wrong. But this was  _ Iowa _ , what the hell happened in Iowa? Bucky worried about the quiet bothering Clint, but there was something different about this sort of quiet that brought more peace than it did anything else. And slowly even Bucky could feel it.

They had been so on for so long, they didn’t know what it was like to not be in that moment anymore. And Clint? He liked the moment he was currently having. He could feel the sun on his face, Lucky laying contently on top of him, and there was a slight breeze. He could almost remember the moments like this when he was a kid, the few times as an adult, and Clint was learning to appreciate it.

“This isn’t funny, Clint,” he heard Bucky call and he couldn’t help the smile that started to spread across his face.

“Stay,” he whispered to Lucky, the dog’s head snapping up. “Stay.”

“You better have your hearing aids in, we talked about this,” Bucky continued. It was a compromise, to be fair. Clint hated wearing them inside the house, but Bucky was adamant that he had to wear them outside, just in case someone had found them.

“Stay,” Clint reminded Lucky gently.  _ Just a little bit closer. _ He could hear the rustling now, hear the crunching behind him. And yet he waited until- “get’em, Luck.”

Clint felt Lucky launch off of him, sprinting off to Bucky. He could hear the excited barking, his tail whacking into the brush, and Bucky’s groaning and grunting, his pleas for the dog to settle and stay down. And yeah, Clint probably should have asked Bucky if he could adopt the dog, but there was no way in hell Clint was going to apologize for Lucky. Lucky had been one of the best things to happen to Clint as far as he was concerned, his constant wink and tail that didn’t know how to stop wagging at even the smallest glance. And as much as Bucky tried to act like he didn’t like the dog, Clint could see him crumbling around the edges when it came to Clint’s one-eyed wondermutt.

He felt the shadow skew the sunlight and he knew he had been spotted. “I know you aren’t asleep, you jackass,” Bucky said, trying to sound gruff but failing miserably. Clint opened his eyes to look up at Bucky. “Worst. Dog. Ever.”

“Best pizza dog ever,” Clint agreed, sitting up and Lucky barreled into him. Clint’s arms flew around the mutt and hugged him. “It’s okay, daddy doesn’t mean it.”

Bucky rose an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Since when was I a father to your dog?”

“Since always, duh,” Clint replied as he buried his face into Lucky. “But you do love me, right daddy?” he asked, throwing his voice to mock how he thought Lucky would sound.

Bucky laughed, tipping his head back. “Christ, what have I gotten myself into? I got rid of one punk who needed me all the time and look what I end up with.” Clint peered over Lucky with a small pout before his eyebrows pulled together. Bucky leaned down. “How did I get so lucky?” he asked.

“Guess it finally caught up with ya,” Clint answered. Just before he could kiss Bucky, Lucky’s head snapped around and planted a long, firm lick across Bucky’s face. Clint had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from laughing.

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched in mild irritation. “Worst dog ever,” he said before he kissed Clint, Clint grabbing a handful of his shirt to pull him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh! It's finished! I started writing this back on November 25th, so it feels incredible to have this finished and wrapped up, and moved to my completed folder. Thank you guys so much for sticking through it with me! Thanks for all the comments and kudos and just <3 <3 <3
> 
> Bonus scene had to be added because Abi mentioned something about bringing Lucky in and, I mean, I love Pizza Dog so I had to. (And who doesnt need more soft Bucky/Clint scenes in their life? I sure as heck do). You can find me on tumblr as hopelessly-me. Pop in, have a chat, leave me a prompt or twelve (okay, maybe not twelve).
> 
> Thanks again! You guys rock!


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